


The Disappearance of Georgie Denbrough

by littleboxesofstars



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: (aka no shapeshifting or memory loss tricks for pennywise), Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Kidnapping, M/M, Mentions of child neglect, Period-Typical Homophobia, Underage Smoking, bc I'm a big wimp that wants my babies to be happy, billverly is addressed but they're just friends, cuz alvin shitstain marsh is in this fic, idk i'm just trying to cover all my bases here, mentions/references made to the book canon but it's mostly based off the movie, sorry betty ripsom r.i.p., stanlon if you squint, stenbrough if you want, though by everybody I kinda just mean the losers club, vague descriptions of sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-03-03 19:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 61,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13347582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleboxesofstars/pseuds/littleboxesofstars
Summary: The summer between junior and senior year of high school, Bill's little brother Georgie goes missing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted a fic where Pennywise was just a mortal being (a man in this fic, I took from the Robert Gray persona in the book) instead of an ancient multidimensional creature. So here's my take on that. It swaps between all of the different Losers' points of view to show more of the story. also posted to my tumblr @trash-the-tozier

As soon as the bell rang, it was as though a bomb had been set off. Bill jumped from his seat, backpack already slung over his shoulder, making a beeline for the door. His long legs and the proximity of his desk to the exit of the classroom made escape easy, getting out first, breathing a sigh of relief as he started down the hallway.

The halls weren’t completely empty, though. Somehow, ahead of him, a painfully tall and lanky kid had managed to make it out faster than he had. Bill would have recognized the wild mess of dark curls anywhere, jogging a little to catch up with him.

“R-Richie!”

“Big Bill!” Richie turned and beamed, slinging an arm around Bill’s shoulders. As teenage boys do, Bill had spent the past school year shooting up like a weed. His growth spurt had been nothing compared to Richie’s though, and the sixteen year old was now laden with limbs longer than he knew what to do with. He was taller than Bill, barely taller than Stan, and much taller than Eddie--nearly everyone was taller than Eddie--but still insisted on calling him “Big Bill”. Bill figured it would be strange if he didn’t.

“Have you seen the others yet?” Richie asked, raising his voice a bit as the racket increased with the number of students around them. Bill shook his head, but he wasn’t concerned. They would all be meeting up in the parking lot anyway, almost out through the front of the building when a classroom door opened on Richie's other side and none other than Stanley Uris stepped out. Richie jumped him almost immediately.

“Stanley the Manly!” He tucked Stan under his other arm with a bit more difficulty, Stan immediately ducking under the reaching limb to get away. He tried to look annoyed but didn't quite succeed, his lips quirked upwards the smallest bit, his smile only growing when Bill grinned in greeting.

“Eddie?” Stan asked, and both of them shook their heads.

“Probably got trampled by some freshmen in the science hallway.” Richie said. “It wouldn't take much to squash him.” Then he flung his arms wide dramatically as the three of them stepped through the school's double doors, his eyes going even bigger behind his coke-bottle glasses. “Welcome gentlemen, to the most amazing summer of our fucking lives!”

The appearance outside was incredibly lackluster, even more so after Richie's grandiose introduction. The sky was dark grey and grumbling, heavy clouds hanging low over their heads as if threatening to open up on them. The uncharacteristically stormy weather spanned away in all directions and out of sight, looking as though it not only covered all of Derry, but the entire state of Maine, too.

“Yeah.” Stan remarked dryly, Bill snorting in laughter. “Looks great.”

Richie promptly flipped him off, looking out across the parking lot. Bill followed his gaze and spotted Eddie, already standing by his secondhand Audi Quattro and fumbling around with something in his backpack.

“Eds!” Richie exclaimed, bounding to him like an over-excited puppy. Eddie smiled when he saw him, the expression turning as Richie reached out to his face, trying to get at his cheeks with both hands. Eddie anticipated the move though, and was batting Richie's grabby fingers away from him for the sixth time when Bill and Stan walked up too.

“How’d you g-g-get out here so fast?” Bill asked.

“Mr. Clarke let us out early.” Eddie said. “I told you guys he wasn’t lame.”

“He teaches Physics.” Richie countered. “That makes him lame by default. Oh no, don't look.”

He pointed as the words came out of his mouth so naturally, all of them glanced over. A fragile looking woman was standing across the street, flanked by police officers and holding a pink handkerchief so tightly that her knuckles were white. Her eyes and nose were red, and she was scanning the crowd of ecstatic kids with desperate eyes.

“Betty Ripsom’s mom.” Stan remarked grimly. “Does she really expect to see her coming out of the school?”

“As if she's been hiding in Home Ec for the past week.” Eddie said, sighing. “She's the third kid in three weeks to go missing; do you think the police will actually find her?”

“Sure.” Richie finally managed to get a pinch on Eddie's cheek, only to have his hand slapped away. “In a ditch, all decomposed and covered in worms and maggots and stuff.”

“D-d-don’t say that.” Bill reprimanded, but Richie wasn't paying attention anymore. There was a black car parked a few spaces away. It was blocked from view by one of the unused school buses, and Bill wouldn’t have seen it if not for where they’d been standing. It almost seemed inconspicuous, but the sight of it sent fear churning through Bill's stomach. He'd thought this was over, that this bullshit had ended now. Stan's eyes were wide, and Eddie cursed softly.

Richie however, walked straight up to the vehicle and kicked the front left tire.

“What the fuck is Bowers doing here?” He asked, squinting through his glasses as he looked over the convertible. “Shouldn’t he be taking McDonald's orders so he can save up enough money for a hot night with Eddie’s mom?”

“At least my mom’s more expensive than your sister.” Eddie shot back. “You should get away before they come back from wherever the hell they went. We should just go home.”

Richie disregarded him, pulling off his backpack and setting it on the hood. It clunked heavily, and Stan winced at the sound.

“What the fuck do you have in there?” He asked.

“Exactly what we need, my good fellows!” Richie exclaimed grandly. His British accent had barely improved at all over the years, but he still did it anyway. “I came prepared to do some dumb shit today, and this opportunity just presented itself on a silver platter.”

“Woke up wanting to do dumb shit? You are an unbelievable human being.” Eddie was so incredulous that Bill wasn't sure he noticed that he was walking closer to Richie, and by extension, Henry Bowers’s car. “I honestly--what the fuck is that?”

Richie pulled two oversized bags of gummy bears and four tubes of toothpaste out of his backpack.

“C’mon!” He insisted. “Let's fuck up his car!” He ripped open a bag, stuffing the colorful candy in his mouth.

“This really is a terrible idea.” Stan said, Bill about to agree when Richie spit wet, sticky gummy bears all over Bowers's windshield. The candy stuck instantly, the gusting wind drying them out and cementing them to where they had landed. Richie laughed wildly, Eddie shrieking in revulsion and jumping back.

“You are disgusting! You are so, so--”

“Come on Eds! You don't have to do the gummy bears. The toothpaste was for the seats, but I think you should squeeze it all over the steering wheel.”

Eddie yelled in protest again as Richie uncapped one of the large tubes and shoved it into his hands. Stan glanced over at Bill.

“Are we engaging in this stupidity?” He asked. Bill felt conflicted. He didn't consider himself or his friends troublemakers, per se. Sure, they weren't completely straight-laced, but they did well in school, and weren’t thieves or vandals or anything else adults thought of them when seeing a group of teenage boys walking around town.

On the other hand, Henry Bowers and his group of goons had made their lives hell all through high school, and despite having graduated by some miracle, still beat on them when opportunity arose.

“I… We’ll be dead if B-B-Bowers finds out.”

A small smile grew on Stan's face, sensing Bill's reluctance to decline outright.

“But…?” He asked.

“B-but I kinda want to.”

Grabbing him by the arm, Stan pulled him over to the black convertible. They took a tube of toothpaste each, Bill filling his mouth with gummy bears next to Richie, unable not to laugh as he spit them against the window.

 

 

Ben figured that it would come back to bite him when he'd decided to report seeing Belch Huggins stealing from the convenience store. He just didn't think it would bite him this badly.

“You wanna tattle to my father, you fat fuck?”

Bowers was yelling in his face behind the Gym building. He'd already been knocked off his feet, the heels of his palms scraped up and stinging. Then something hard hit the back of his head--a kick, he thought dimly--putting all of his energy into keeping his face from also smacking into the pavement. He was yanked up by the back of his shirt and flipped over by Huggins, a punch to the side of his head making his ears ring and knocking him onto his back. Bowers grabbed at him.

“You should feel honored, tits. We drove all the way down here just for you.” Spit sprayed down on Ben's face, and he tried to shrink away, but Bowers’s grip on him was vice-like and rough. “And we're not leaving until we're satisfied.”

“Is that a family motto, or does it only apply to you? Otherwise you'd still be in the back of your sister's car.”

Ben felt his mouth fall open as the rest of the Bowers gang turned around. Behind the hulking bullies stood Beverly Marsh, her hands curled into fists, her hair a flash of fire blazing almost as bright as her eyes. Before any of them could recover she’d run past the bullies, yanked Ben to his feet, and they ran.

Ben couldn’t help himself, staring at her. Her red hair was pulled into a low ponytail, streaks of it curling around her neck and cheek when she glanced over to beam at him. He could feel his face heating up, and knew it wasn’t just the adrenaline. Thankfully, he wasn’t the one that tripped for not looking where he was going; it was Beverly, and he grabbed her by the arm to keep her on her feet. He apologized, she thanked him, then grabbed his hand.

The Bowers gang were taller, older, and faster than them, the two of them just barely having turned to see the front of the school when a pair of hands met Ben’s back in a hard shove. He tumbled over himself onto the grass, Beverly landing hard next to him a second later. Bowers loomed over Beverly, Ben working hard to get his feet under him, fully prepared to launch himself in Henry’s direction.

“Listen up, you fucking slut--”

“Hey! You shits!”

Henry’s threat was cut off by Victor Criss’s shrill shout off towards the direction of the parking lot. They all looked up, Henry letting out an anguished yell. There was a group of kids around Henry Bowers’s car, all of whom Ben recognized from an assortment of different classes. There were gummy bears covering all of the windows and mirrors, a boy in a Hawaiian shirt and jeans having climbed onto the hood to reach the very top of the windshield. The other three were holding what looked like tubes of toothpaste, emptying them onto the car seats. At Henry’s outcry they froze and looked up, and all of them looked afraid except for the one standing on the car, who stuck up double middle fingers.

“I’m gonna kill you fucking fags!” Bowers yelled, and Ben and Beverly were promptly forgotten as the gang streaked across the lawn, the group of troublemakers scattering. Ben glanced over at Beverly, who glanced back before falling flat on her back, laughing. As the adrenaline faded, Ben began laughing back.

“We should go get our stuff.” Beverly said, pulling herself onto her feet and offering down a hand to help Ben. He accepted, and they began walking back behind the Gym.

“Wanna sign my yearbook?” Ben asked her, and she smiled.

 

 

“Fuck!” Stan hissed, and they all sprang from Bowers’s car as though it were on fire. Bill grabbed Stan around the wrist and pulled him towards his mother’s Volkswagen, hopping in and slamming the doors. Eddie grabbed Richie by the front of his tank top--the boy was still throwing up middle fingers and laughing--shoving him into his car and starting the engine. The Bowers gang were getting into their own car, which came with a whole new plethora of slurred curses when they found the monumental amount of toothpaste covering the seats and steering wheel.

Thankfully though, they only had one car. The three vehicles sped from the parking lot, and with Richie having taken his Hawaiian shirt off, spinning it wildly over his head as he yelled insults out the window (and an equally loud but much higher-pitched Eddie screaming at him to shut the fuck up) Bill wasn’t too surprised when it was their car that the gang decided to follow. As Bill turned the corner in the direction of Stan’s house Eddie’s car sped past them, with Bowers fast on his tailpipe. Stan fell back into the passenger seat, laughing.

“Not a bad first day of summer after all.” He remarked, and Bill had to grin back. He eased up on the gas, realizing that the adrenaline had him going nearly fifty in the neighborhood where anything above twenty-five was speeding.

“W-we should c-c-call them later, and make sure they d-didn’t get killed.” Bill said, Stan nodding in agreement.

“I’ll do it. You’ll probably have your hands full.”

“Thanks.”

Stan was right, Bill not remembering until his friend said so. His father had a work event tonight, and with his mother at home sick with some sort of nasty nausea-inducing head cold, it was his job to make dinner and take care of Georgie. He was used to babysitting his brother by now, but it always took up a large amount of his concentration anyways.

The rain had begun by the time Bill dropped Stan off. The drops were so heavy that by the time Stan had made it to his front door, his curls had deflated considerably. He still stopped and turned, thanking Bill for the ride. Smiling and waving, Bill waited until Stan was safely inside his house before turning in the direction of his own home.

Georgie was already there, the elementary school letting out earlier than the high school did, the bus dropping him off around the corner. Bill walked up, ruffling his hair. Georgie was hunched over a piece of paper with a pencil and a handful of crayons.

“W-what’s up Georgie?” Bill asked him, setting his backpack down on one of the table chairs.

“Making Mommy a card!” He declared proudly. “She's taking a nap. I wanna help her feel better.”

“Well t-t-that’s very nice of you.” Bill said, Georgie beaming at the praise. “I'm sure it will help.” He moved to go put his stuff in his room, peeking his head into his parents’ bedroom first to tell his mother he was home. As Georgie had said though, his mother was asleep, three types of medication on the bedside table and a trashcan overflowing with tissues next to the bed. He dumped his backpack onto his own bed before creeping quietly in and emptying the trash for her.

“Billy? How do you spell ‘beautiful’?” Georgie called, and while the question was endearing, Bill wanted desperately to hush him. His mother opened her eyes.

“I’m home.” He told her. “S-sorry.”

She gave him a small smile. “No, it’s alright; I need more meds anyways. There’s a can of soup that I put out on the kitchen counter earlier, you could make that and a few grilled cheese sandwiches for yourself and Georgie tonight, okay? The can has directions on the back.”

“Yeah, s-s-sounds great Mom.”

“Billy?” Georgie called again. He’d begun wandering the house, so Bill gave his mother another smile before slipping out, closing the door behind himself.

The rainfall grew heavier and heavier as the afternoon passed, Georgie becoming increasingly restless and upset about being cooped up inside.

“Y-you could make another card.” Bill proposed. “Or something else out of p-p-paper. Stan taught you how to make that frog once, do you remember?”

Georgie's face screwed up in thought before seemingly struck with inspiration. He returned only a couple of minutes later, a clumsily folded paper boat in hand.

“Could I go outside and sail it? Please Bill?”

Georgie's eyes were big, brown, and pleading, and Bill felt his heart melt out of his chest. He considered it for a moment. Georgie was nearly ten years old; he could take care of himself. He nodded.

“Go get the wax, so it’ll float. You’ll have to put on your rainc-c-coat and your boots too.”

Georgie beamed at him. It took only fifteen minutes for him to be completely ready to go, the _S.S. Georgie_ held tightly in his hand, his walkie-talkie strapped safely on the waistband of his jeans, under the coat to protect it from the rain.

“Don’t go too far, okay?” Bill told him seriously. “Stay close by. Don’t b-be out too long either.”

“I’ll be fine, Billy.” Georgie promised. After a quick hug, Georgie was out in the rain, waving brightly at Bill through the living room window before splashing off down the sidewalk. Bill resisted the urge to go after him and call him back in as a sudden, unsettling feeling wrenching at his stomach. He tried to shake it off, walking back to the kitchen to start on dinner. He was being dumb, he told himself. Maybe he was just getting sick too.

 

 

Stan curled up a little tighter in his seat, leaning more heavily on the arm of the couch to his left and tucking his feet under himself. It was perfect weather for curling up with a warm drink and a good book, and that’s exactly what Stan was doing, The Hobbit propped open on his lap. The sun had set over an hour ago, as well as the end of dinner. Their phone rang, Stan simply looking at it for a moment, unwilling to move. Luckily, he didn’t have to. His dad entered the living room a moment later, picking up the receiver.

“Hello? Oh, good evening Sharon.”

Sharon. Bill’s mom. Stan sat still, listening.

“Georgie? No, he didn’t come by. He couldn’t make it this far in this weather, could he? When was the last time you saw him?”

Donald Uris’s brow furrowed in a deep frown of concern. Stan felt sick to his stomach. The Denbroughs couldn’t find Georgie?

“Have you called the police? He might be in the store down the street, or at a neighbor’s house for shelter; the rain has gotten worse since this afternoon. Of course we’ll help you. Andrea, Stanley, and I will be there as soon as we can.”

Stan was already on his feet when his father hung up the phone.

“What's going on?” He asked. His father looked solemn.

“Georgie went out to play in the rain before dinner, and he hasn't come home yet. The police have been called, and the Denbroughs have a search party going. Get your shoes on, and grab a coat.”

Nodding, Stan ran upstairs. Upon his questioning, his father admitted that he didn't know if the Toziers or the Kaspbraks had also been called.

“Eddie and Richie will want to know, Dad. They'll want to help. Could I go get them?”

After a moment of consideration, his father nodded.

“Fine. But hurry.”

Nodding, Stan ran in the direction of Richie's house. He was pink, drenched, and out of breath when he arrived, and it was obvious by Richie's face when he opened the door that he had no idea what was going on.

“Fuck Stanley, is the Boogeyman after you?”

“Georgie is missing.”

Richie's eyes looked impossibly huge behind his glasses, his expression holding an edge of terror that Stan hadn't expected.

“Missing? Like Betty Ripsom missing?”

“Maybe. There's a search party.”

Richie stepped out into the rain immediately, Stan having to shove him back into the house to get shoes and a jacket. They didn't even try knocking on Eddie's door--it was much too late for Mrs. Kaspbrak to consent to Eddie going anywhere--Stan watching as Richie climbed the white, vine-covered trellis to get to Eddie's window. He slipped twice on the wooden structure due to the rainfall before managing to reach up and knock. Eddie looked ready to step back and let Richie in until he saw Stan standing on the ground below, his expression turning to one of confusion.

“Please let me in! I’m about to break my neck out here.”

Eddie let Richie into his room, and the two of them were out of earshot. Richie must have filled Eddie in though, because the two of them climbed down less than five minutes later, Eddie completely waterproof and prepared for every possible disaster. He began listing the things he packed as they went to Bill's, counting on his fingers.

“I have extra batteries and extra flashlights, a towel, a blanket, bandages, one of those small flashlight things you can strap around your head--”

He stopped abruptly when they turned onto Bill's street. The whole neighborhood was out there with flashlights and umbrellas. Bill looked stricken, exhausted and painfully high-strung all at once.

“W-w-w-we already w-went d-d-door to door.” Bill told them when they arrived. He was shaking terribly, soaked to his knees with rainwater. “T-t-to check if h-he went i-i-inside f-from the storm. N-n-now w-we need t-to look around t-t-the neighb-borhood.”

“Okay.” Richie said instantly. His face was dead serious, and Stan didn't like it. “Lead the way.”

They headed down the block, the sound of the raindrops against the hood of Stan's raincoat echoing in his ears. They searched through every bush, under every car, screaming Georgie's name down the street. Lights clicked on as they passed, people staring out at what it was making so much noise so late at night, Stan noticing that the later and later into the night it got, the less the faces looked concerned, annoyance instead in their expressions. Either way, nobody came out to help them.

The rain stopped and the skies cleared just in time for the sun to start making its way back up into the sky. Stan felt painfully weary, but looking over at Bill's wasted expression and dragging feet kept his shoulders straight, trying not to seem too hopeless.

Eddie's eyes were still wide open and his feet were still quick, but his expression looked slightly glazed over and his movements were mechanical. Richie, whose commentary had kept them awake through the night, had fallen mostly silent aside from strange, offhand remarks. He leaned a bit on Eddie as he walked, all of them looking up when he froze in place.

“What, Richie?” Stan asked. They'd gone in a long, large circle, and were only a turn away from Bill's house now. Stan wanted very much for the night to be over; it was unlikely that any of them would be very useful until they got some sleep.

“There's something in the gutter.” He answered, all of them following him to the side of the road. He knelt, reached down, and pulled out a single black rainboot. Bill made a choked sound, snatching the shoe from Richie's hands and staring at it, and Stan could guess who it belonged to. It was Eddie that confirmed it.

“Georgie's?”

Bill nodded, and Stan's stomach clenched.

“We need to take this to your house, or the police, and show them where we found it.” He said. It took some coaxing but they got Bill moving, making it back to his home. The Denbrough parents were still awake, along with Stan's mom, but Stan's father had fallen asleep on the couch. The news of one of the galoshes being found in the sewer stirred up enough activity to wake him, and after being thanked and hugged by both of Bill's parents, Richie, Eddie, and the Urises were sent home to sleep.

“This is fucked up.” Richie said, before they parted ways. Stan and Eddie both nodded, and neither of Stan's parents told him to watch his language. “Want me to walk you home, Spaghetti Man?”

Eddie made a face at the nickname, as though he couldn't believe that Richie still had energy left in his body to annoy him with.

“No. My mom's bound to know I'm gone, and your presence won't help. I'll just… Let her yell at me and hope that's enough.”

Stan shivered. Mrs. Kaspbrak didn't yell, but he still knew what Eddie meant; her sickly sweet, I’m-not-mad-just-disappointed (but-actually-fucking-furious) voice that she used when Eddie didn't do exactly as she told him. He didn't see how his friend could stand it.

“Good luck.” Stan told him, clapping him on the shoulder. “Let us know if you get grounded, or something.”

Eddie promised he would, and after a hair rustle from Richie--Eddie really wished he could grow just a bit taller to be out of the convenient height range for that particular action--he set off in the direction of home. He glanced back at his friends in time to see Richie give Stan a quick hug before also walking off, feeling as surprised as Stan looked by the action.

Eddie had been able to tell the entire night that something was wrong with Richie. Something was off. Richie was more into physical contact than Bill or Stan were, but tonight had been on another level. He’d been even touchier than usual, his body brushing against Eddie's shoulder, or inexplicably running his fingers down Eddie's arm or back; everything short of actually just holding his hand. Richie's touchy hands had the potential to annoy him--on usual days when Richie was pinching his cheeks or tugging at his belt loops or something equally idiotic--but it had been comforting tonight.

Which meant Richie wanted comfort. Eddie instantly regretted his declination of Richie's escort offer, but it was too late. Besides, everything he'd postulated was correct; his mother was sitting at the kitchen table when he got home, looking at him over the rims of her glasses, her eyes alight and her nostrils flared.

“Oh?” She stood, a hulking mass preventing him from entering the kitchen. Eddie was suddenly reminded of an angry buffalo, a few pawings at the ground away from a charge. “Back from your midnight escapade of fun, are we?”

Her voice was quavering under a mask of calm. Eddie shook his head quickly.

“No, no, it's nothing like that. I'm sorry Mommy. Georgie is missing--you know, Bill's little brother--and there was a search party last night to find him. I had to help.”

“Well? Did you find him?”

“No.”

She didn't seem concerned by the fact that a nine year old child was somewhere, lost and alone. If anything, she looked almost satisfied.

“See? It was pointless then. It's really best you stay at home, Eddie.”

Anger flared in Eddie's stomach. He didn't know what triggered it; maybe it was the lack of sleep in his system, or the vandalization and patronization of the Bowers gang that he'd participated in earlier that day. Either way, Eddie felt his hands curl into fists.

“I was trying to do a good thing.”

“Worrying your mother out of her mind is a good thing? Giving a grieving family false hope is a good thing?” She stepped back suddenly, pointing to a kitchen chair that she'd pulled out and placed in the middle of the tile floor. “Sit.”

“I really just want to go to bed.” Was what Eddie tried to say, his mother's grip demanding as she all but dragged him into the room and pushed him down. She began examining every inch of his skin, her bifocals a magnifying glass.

“I'm fine, Mom. I didn't get hurt.”

“You have a scratch.” She told him, her voice short and matter of fact. She cupped her hand around a stretch of skin on his shin, blocked from Eddie's view as she inspected it. Nothing felt like it hurt, not even when she poured peroxide on his leg and covered the afflicted area with a bandaid, but Eddie figured he was so used to this treatment by now that perhaps he'd grown used to it.

“You can't just have open wounds, Edward. A friend of mine got AIDS--AIDS!--through a hangnail after touching a dirty pole on the subway. You don't want to die, do you?”

Eddie swallowed. “No.” He murmured. He felt a sick jolt of panic at that anecdote, suddenly infinitely glad of the bandage on his leg. He'd walked around the neighborhood for hell knows how long, a rip in his body's natural defenses simply open to the wind for any bacteria to crawl in. Another flash of fear raced up his chest.

Mrs. Kaspbrak smiled. “Good.” Seemingly satisfied, his mother let him up, and he walked up to his bedroom. His brain wanted to worry more about the possibility of having just contracted AIDS or bacteremia or septicemia or something else, but to his immense relief his body won out, physical exhaustion rushing over him as soon as he crawled in bed, sleep soon coming with it.

 

 

Mike Hanlon brought his bike to a fast stop, one hand reaching forward to cover the basket on the front. The action was a precautionary habit, but the basket was empty; he was in town to buy medication this time, not to make any deliveries. His grandfather had fallen ill, and while he insisted that he could kick the sickness on his own, Mike wasn’t taking any chances. This illness looked too like the same thing that had taken his grandmother a couple of years back, and he didn’t want it to happen again. It was just himself and his uncle trying to run the farm, and as a result his schooling had more or less ended, Mike being declared his own man now. He wasn’t sure what that meant; he didn’t feel much different.

 He’d stopped because something on the brick wall ahead had caught his eye. He peered closer to look at the details--the large, black lettering spelling out “MISSING” had been easy enough to read at a distance.

_POLICE DEPARTMENT_  
_CITY OF DERRY_

A black and white photograph of a young boy smiled up at Mike, who frowned back.

_George Denbrough_

The last seen date was two days previous, Mike feeling slightly incredulous. Another kid? He lifted the page to look at the missing poster under it, a girl named Betty Ripsom. Behind her poster was another one, for a girl named Tania McGowan. Mike traveled into town at least once a week, and he felt as though each time he came in there was another child gone, unable not to wonder if anything was actually being done.

Mike didn’t like spending too much time in Derry, putting his bike into motion again. Aside from the bigots he didn’t have time for, the town always gave him a feeling of unease. He liked to think it was simply because of how much of an outsider he felt, but he knew deep down that wasn’t it. His grandfather called the place cursed; his father had always said it housed someone--something--evil. Maybe he just knew the history of the place too well.


	2. Chapter 2

“Seriously? My first day off house arrest and we’re going to the sewers?” Eddie’s voice was loud and fretfully dissenting as they walked.

“Come on Eds! I’ve heard hepatitis is a joy to have.” Richie countered, smiling. Eddie’s poorly suppressed shiver made Stan grin.

“Don’t call me Eds, and don’t talk about hepatitis. I might just throw up on you.”

“Now now, don’t do that. I’d have to return the favor like a true gentleman.”

Eddie looked completely scandalized at that, edging away from Richie, falling into step on the other side of Bill.

“Any news?” He asked, his voice considerably softer. Stan looked at Bill too, unable to keep the frown off his face. It had been a week since Georgie’s disappearance, a week of desperate search parties, missing posters, and police station visits, and Bill looked like he hadn’t slept a second. Stan almost wanted to call the mission off, and drag Bill home. He would carry him, if he had to; Bill was a little shorter than Stan himself and didn’t weigh much. Maybe he could spike some hot chocolate with a few crushed sleeping pills. Bill seemed dead on his feet.

In answer to the question, Bill shook his head, a steely glint of determination flashing in his eyes, and Stan knew he couldn’t even voice a suggestion that sounded similar to what he’d been thinking. Bill wouldn’t allow it, and Bill was the leader; his word was law.

“W-w-we’re searching the sewers. All of them.”

“And we won’t get in trouble?”

“The s-sewers are public works. We’re the public, aren’t we?”

Eddie looked unconvinced.

“His b-boot was down in the gutter, right? So… S-s-so maybe he fell in somehow, and the water swept h-him away somewhere. He’s s-s-s-s--” Bill’s fist curled in frustration, falling silent until he could get the word out. “--small. Small enough for that.”

“The logic checks out!” Richie’s terrible British accent was back, jumping between Bill and Stan to wrap an arm around Bill’s shoulders and give him a tight squeeze. “Never fear, old chap! We’ll return your Georgie to you in a right jiffy!”

“What are you even saying?” Stan deadpanned, but Bill gave Richie the smallest of smiles.

“We’ll find him.” Richie said, voice more serious this time, but lacking the conviction the phrase needed to not sound empty. Bill looked as though he’d already heard those three words enough for a lifetime.

“I mean… P-p-people don’t just disappear.”

Stan thought about the other missing posters, the ones Georgie’s picture had been pasted over, but he held his tongue. The sewers became visible in the distance.

   


Ben knew the librarian didn’t like him.  She thought him suspicious, or something similar, which was perplexing; every other elderly lady Ben had interacted with had told him they thought him to be the perfect gentleman. In the face of this crabbiness though, Ben still found himself in the library nearly every day once school let out for summer. He told himself on the first day of break that he needed to get out more, but once he was outside, he didn’t really have anywhere to go. With the library being a guaranteed refuge from Bowers and his goonies, paired with his love of literature, it was really the only place he could spend time without concern.

Ben had moved to Derry when he was thirteen, and since then hadn’t truly managed to make many friends. He had cordial relationships with other students in class, but they scattered from him instantly if Bowers was around, who was always looking to make anyone in the surrounding area of Benjamin Hanscom just as miserable as he was. The stigma stuck even after the gang had graduated, but this summer Ben wanted things to be different. If he ventured from his room, he might just run into people he knew.

Or maybe just someone.

A certain someone named Beverly Marsh.

It was silly, and deep down Ben knew it, but he couldn’t help himself. She’d put hearts next to her name in the back of his yearbook. That had to mean something.

Ben had purchased himself a postcard on his way to the land of apprehensive librarians, now staring at the back of it. He couldn’t tell Beverly he liked her; that felt too straightforward, the thought nerveracking enough to instantly back out of. But he could try to make her smile. He’d liked doing that.

After twenty minutes of careful thought, he’d written out a poem, to Bev from a Secret Admirer. It was short, and didn’t rhyme, but he hoped she would like it anyway.

He was inexplicably full of nerves now, wanting to give the card to her. Somehow. He didn’t know where she lived, or how to find her--how was a secret admirer a secret if the card was handed over, face to face?

Pondering this predicament led him out of the library, crossing the grassy stretch of land in the center of town. He was reading over the poem for the umpteenth time, not looking where he was going, not checking the surrounding area or doing any of the other precautionary actions that a bullied kid without a death wish should do. The mistake caught up with him almost instantly.

“Where you off to, tits?”

Ben’s head whipped around, the familiar voice making it feel as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. Henry Bowers was leaning against the statue in the park, a cigarette perched between his lips. His voice held its same daunting deprecation but his face lacked the usual cocky grin, and Ben knew that getting out if this encounter alive would be a miracle. He shoved the postcard into his back pocket and ran.

Huggins and Hockstetter cut him off at the bridge, doubtlessly tipped off by Vic Criss, who was emerging from the trees and grinning. Bowers slowed to a walk, approaching leisurely as Ben’s arms were gripped and restrained. The bullies around him were laughing, excited to inflict some hurt. Bowers still hadn’t smiled though, and something about it made Ben more terrified than he had ever been in his life.

Bowers took the cigarette from his mouth, putting it out against Ben’s chest. It burned a hole through his shirt and into his skin and Ben squirmed, trying to back away, only succeeding in cornering himself between two big bullies and the bridge’s guardrail. Bowers flicked open his knife with one hand, grabbing the collar of Ben’s t-shirt with the other.

“Nobody humiliates Henry Bowers. You got that? Nobody.”

For a wild moment, Ben had no idea what he was talking about. Henry had what looked like a fresh bruise on his face and he was pressing on it, rubbing the injured flesh, aggravating the affliction even further as he looked down as Ben.

_His car_ , Ben realized. He’d had nothing to do with that, but that little flaw of logic seemed inconsequential.

“Look at all this blubber.” Hockstetter reached down and slapped Ben’s stomach hard, pins and needles emanating from the blow. Without warning, without hesitation, Bowers shoved up his shirtfront and brought his knife down in three clumsily crossing strokes. Pain ripped through Ben’s stomach, a lump of fear rising in his throat as tears seared at his eyes. He squirmed harder against his captors, who had momentarily forgotten him, all three of them staring at Bowers.

“Henry, what the--”

“I’m going to carve my whole name into his cottage cheese!” Bowers screamed. He looked almost unhinged, eyes darting between his friends, daring any of them to oppose him. This was Ben’s chance, and he took it.

He struggled desperately, the weakened grips on him leaving only Bowers’s hand on his shirt still holding him. He kicked out, his sneaker making hard contact with Bowers’s chest, using the force of it to rip himself free and flip over the railing, landing hard on his back and beginning to tumble.

The fall down the hill was hard and painful, rocks and branches scratching up every inch of his body on the way down. He bit hard on the inside of his cheek as his face connected with the side of a passing tree, but he had too much momentum to stop himself and he knew that the gang were still after him, tucking in his chin and gritting his teeth against the pain. His entire body was a sore, scraped, and bleeding mess by the time he’d found his footing but he didn’t let that stop him, taking off at as much as a run as he could manage.

He didn’t know where he was or where he was going but he didn’t stop, running straight into a nearby river. The water stung at his injuries, the knife cuts on his stomach searing through him as he lost his footing and fell. But he had to keep going. He wanted to keep going until he felt safe, until he felt he could find his way home slowly and steadily, because he knew he couldn’t run much farther.

It didn’t take long for his body to give out. He’d tripped on the slick rocks for the fourth time, ready to resign himself to the current and let it take him away when a loud voice came from his left.

“Holy shit!”

Ben thought he must be hallucinating as four teenage boys emerged from the large sewage tunnel at the riverbed. A tall one with light curly hair got to him first, and when Ben recognized Stanley Uris, he knew who the others must be. The four of them were a closely-knit group of friends, and Ben had multiple classes with each of them throughout the years. They were also the people that had nearly just gotten him killed, but he wasn’t going to hold that against them.

“What the hell happened to you?” Richie asked as he tried yet again to get to his feet. It didn’t work. Bill was the one that grabbed his shoulders and hoisted him to his feet, and the shortest there, Eddie, recoiled at all of the blood he had on him.

“He needs help.” Bill reported. The statement was an obvious oversimplification, Richie looking over him and giving an odd little laugh.

“He needs more than that. But help would be a start.”

They made it to the pharmacy without running into any of Bowers’s “monkey gang”, as Richie called them while they walked. Bill, Stan, and Eddie entered the pharmacy, leaving him in the alleyway outside with Richie. He couldn’t stay on his feet anymore, sitting down as Richie continued to survey him with his eyes. Ben could only imagine how terrible he looked.

“I’m glad I got to meet you before you died.” Richie said, and okay, maybe Ben looked worse than he’d previously thought.

Eddie and Stan returned quickly, laden down with bandages and antiseptic creams, Ben trying to calculate in his head how much it would cost to pay them back for all of this.

“Which one of you is rich and didn’t tell me about it?” Richie asked, evidently also surprised by their supply haul. Stan was suppressing a smile, Eddie’s answer brief.

“We stole it.”

Richie guffawed loudly. “No kidding Eds? I’m proud of you!”

Eddie didn’t look proud of himself though, ripping open a couple of boxes and kneeling in front of Ben’s injured stomach. Ben was surprised that it was him that stepped in to help him, since he’d been fretting loudly about AIDS and other blood diseases their entire journey over. He was also grateful that Eddie didn’t give in to Richie’s coaxing of him to “suck the wound”. That was the last thing he wanted.

“So, wait…” Richie pointed between Eddie and Stan. “Which of you caused the diversion and which of you actually nicked the stuff? Or… Where’s Bill?”

The answer to all of his questions came quick enough, Bill turning the corner into the alley. He had someone walking with him, Ben nearly choking on his tongue when he saw that it was Beverly. Her eyes went wide when she saw him, and he wished desperately that he wasn’t so dirty, wet, and bloody.

“That looks like it hurts.” She said. The concern in her voice was nice. Ben tried to smile, hoping that it came out as less of a grimace than it felt. It did hurt.

“No, I’m good. I just fell.”

“Yeah, right into Henry Bowers.”

Beverly’s face turned sympathetic, and Ben would have given just about anything for Richie not to have said that. The sentiment seemed to be shared, Bill telling Richie to shut it, who just raised his hands defensively and muttered something about “telling it like it is”.

“Is this going to be enough? Mr. Keene’s a complete creep; I wouldn’t mind helping you guys steal more of his stuff.”

“Wait, you did this?” Richie asked. Beverly shrugged but she was grinning a little, her hand going to her back pocket.

“I just caused the diversion.”

Richie leaned back a little, regarding Bev with a new, respectful air. “Cool.” He said.

“W-w-we’ll take care of him.” Bill assured her. “Thanks again, Beverly.”

“Sure. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“We were thinking of m-m-meeting up in t-town tomorrow.” Bill told her. “I don’t really k-know where yet, but…”

She smiled at him before he could come up with something, already turning to go.

“Good to know, thanks.”

Then she was gone. Ben watched her walk away, knowing more than anything in his life that despite the gashes in his side, he would be in town tomorrow.

With a terrible British impression from Richie and snappy retorts from Eddie, he was disinfected and patched up.

“Bowers has gone after us, but he’s never done anything like this before.” Stan said. “He must really hate you.”

Ben nodded, Richie looking incredibly intrigued.

“What did you do?” He asked. Ben shrugged.

“He was beating up on me on the last day of school, and in the middle of it he saw you guys messing with his car. Maybe he blames me for it, I don't know.”

The silence was heavy.

“S-s-sorry.” Bill muttered.

“No, no. It’s okay. We have to be even now anyway.” Ben declared, gesturing to his lapful of bandages and creams; Eddie was insisting that he keep it all. “Besides, how did you manage to get the gummy bears to stick like that?”

The group began exchanging smiles.

“Nothing more than the power of my magic mouth.” Richie said. “Eddie would know, wouldn’t you Eds?”

“Don’t make me kill you.” Was all Eddie responded with.

“I dunno, this new kid is pretty cute. You might have some competition.” Richie told him, and in spite of himself Ben felt a small flush creep onto his face. It seemed as though Richie was reaching over to pinch Ben’s cheek, but he was focused so completely on teasing Eddie that he missed, his hand ending up somewhere near Ben’s ear instead.

“If you ever put that trashmouth anywhere near me, Tozier--” Eddie seemed quite heated but Richie was grinning wider than ever, leaning close to Ben, his voice a stage whisper that everyone could hear.

“He loves me.”

Eddie flipped him off.

“What were you guys doing in the sewer?” Ben didn’t want to judge the activities of some hopefully new friends, but he felt the question was valid enough. All eyes turned to Bill, everyone hesitant to speak, and Ben realized his question wasn’t as innocent as he’d assumed.

“M-m-my brother’s gone missing.” Bill answered, and Ben wanted to hit himself for his insensitivity. He’d known that. He’d known Bill’s last name was Denbrough, and he’d seen the missing posters for George Denbrough all around town. He just hadn’t taken the time to put the pieces together until now.

Still, he realized after apologizing, that didn’t really answer his question. Bill continued.

“We f-found one of his rainb-boots in the gutter, and thought that m-maybe h-he’d been…” Bill trailed off.

“You think he could’ve been swept away.” Ben guessed. Bill nodded.

“We don’t really know w-where to look, though.”

“There’s a book in the library that shows the layout of the old sewer system in town.” Ben supplied. “We could use that to trace a few possible paths.”

Bill looked as though Ben had just thrown him a lifeline.

“R-really?”

“Not today.” Stan cut in quickly. “Bill, you’re not going anywhere except your house. You need to sleep.”

Bill pursed his lips indignantly and looked over at him, his defiance deflating when he noticed his other two friends nodding along with Stan’s words.

“We’ll go tomorrow!” Richie said. “Maybe we’ll meet up with Beverly.”

Pink crept up Bill’s cheeks. “I d-doubt she’d want to help with this.”

“No, she’s pretty cool.” Ben said, realizing that it made it sound like he knew Beverly better than he actually did. He liked that.

“...fine.” Bill finally allotted. He looked to Ben. “Do you want a r-ride home?”

Ben waved a hand, pulling himself to his feet, trying to keep the pain from showing on his face as hot strips of it licked their way up his side.

“I can make it.”

The four of them all looked doubtful but didn’t question him, Eddie telling him how to redress the bandages properly for possibly the third time, his words quick as they moved separate ways. With a final expression of thanks, Ben made his way home.

He had to stop and rest more times than he was willing to admit, but finally he arrived. His mother was home, getting ready to heat up a pair of TV dinners for the two of them. It reminded Ben all over again how he wanted to learn to cook--no one in the house was able to after his father had died. His mother seemed to have no interest in learning.

She gasped when she saw him.

“Benjamin! What happened to you?”

“I fell down a hill.” He responded. That was truth enough, and she accepted it instantly.

“My clumsy boy!” She patted him affectionately on the stomach, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. She couldn’t see the bandages under his shirt, and if she felt them she gave no indication. “I keep telling you to be more careful! Go get cleaned up, okay?”

And just like that, she wasn’t worried anymore. Ben liked how easily it was to placate his mother; she always accepted any good news, the nicest explanation, regardless of how unbelievable it seemed. It kept her from getting concerned, and Ben didn’t ever want to trouble her.

“Okay. I’ll be back soon.” He walked past her, through the kitchen, then was faced with the incredibly daunting task of getting up the stairs. Ben sighed, gritted his teeth, and began to climb.  


 

“Another damn kid has gone missing.”

Mike glanced up from his father’s journal, his grandfather walking into the living room. The old man wasn’t feeling much better, but he had grown tired of sitting at home and being waited on, insisting on making that week’s delivery on his own. It was evident by just by looking that the trip had taken a lot out of him, sitting down heavily on the first chair he came across.

“Yeah, I saw.” Mike said. “That little boy?”

Leroy Hanlon frowned at him. “No. An older kid; older than you, even. Already a man grown, in the legal sense. Oldest missing kid so far.”

“Do you remember his name?” Mike asked. His grandfather thought back for a moment, his brow furrowing.

“Patrick, I think. Long last name; started with an ‘H’.”

It felt as though a block of ice had fallen into Mike’s stomach.

“Hockstetter?” He asked. He got a shrug in return, his grandfather both unconcerned and unsure, Mike falling into thought. Patrick Hockstetter was one of Henry Bowers’s goons, he knew that well enough. The group of boys seemed to live to make Mike’s life hell whenever he dared to venture into Derry, even going as far as poisoning his dog a couple of years back. A small part of Mike had thought that maybe Henry was the one causing these kids to go missing, through kidnapping or murder or both, but he didn’t like to think that way. It made him feel sick, and now that Hockstetter was missing, the hypothesis was as good as dashed.

His grandfather let out a long sigh.

“What is it I tell you about that town?” He grumbled. “Cursed. Insane.”

“Some people are just going missing, it’s not--”

“Some people? Four people, Mike. Four kids.” He sighed, rubbing his temples with his hands. “It better not be that damn clown again.”

“Clown?”

“Your dad had this theory.” Leroy's tone of voice made it obvious at once that this “theory” was something he didn't put much stock in, but Mike did note that he thought it at least credible enough to mention. “Any time some bad event happens in Derry, there's a clown there. But it's just the costume that's the same, really. He can't prove that the clown is doing anything bad. He just wants to think so.”

“What type of bad event?” Mike asked. “Like… Missing kids?”

“Anything. The Black Spot near twenty years ago was the first time I heard about him. You know, that club that burned to the ground.”

Mike nodded, swallowing. His fingers slid absentmindedly over the pages of his father’s journal, sitting open in his lap.

“There’s no proof this clown guy did anything. Multiple eyewitnesses just remembered seeing him, because it was so strange of him to be there, I suppose. Then, of course, there were clowns at any event for kids, because kids like ‘em, but nobody had anything to say about that either until the Easter parade explosion a few years before you were born. That thing was a massacre.”

Mike nodded again. He’d heard about that event and even done some of his own reading, his morbid curiosity getting the better of him. The moment he’d seen the photograph of the severed head of a boy stuck up in a tree, he’d slammed the book closed. He still had nightmares about it from time to time.

“Then after a murder or two, people caught on a little to the whole thing. Since there have been reports of a man in a costume breaking into people’s homes, showing up in the streets looking like a mess, talking to children from the edge of the woods… Just people trying to scare each other, that’s all.”

“And now there’s someone dressing up as a clown and taking kids?” The way his grandfather had said  _that_  clown still had Mike thinking there was something else he wasn’t being told. The old man flared his nostrils, letting out a slow breath.

“Now, some people,” The way he said those words had Mike sure that “your father” was what he’d actually meant. “Some people seem to think that all the different clown sightings… They’re all one guy. One wack job with a hobby getting all dressed up to spook people out. That there’s some person in town responsible for all this. He even thought he had the guy’s name.”

“If he knew who it was, why didn’t he say anything?”

“Because the name is the part of the theory that’s so impossible. The person he was pointing a finger at skipped town when he was just a kid. Might’ve skipped the whole country, judging by the say he was running.” Leroy pointed to the ceiling, implying the north, and Canada. “I watched him go myself.”

“Who was it?”

His grandfather frowned. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Your father documented the whole case like a crazy man, and all his notes on it are in the chest at the foot of your bed. The key for it is in my dresser. Look if you’d like, but quit asking me.”

Mike leapt to his feet, so intensely curious that he couldn’t slow down as he grabbed the key and hurried to his bedroom, unlocking the chest. It was a large wooden thing, obviously home-crafted, and had been in this room, locked closed, for as long as Mike could remember. And this hadn’t always been Mike’s room--before him, it belonged to his parents, and even after all these years it felt weird to do more than sleep in it. He didn’t like to hang out in here if he could help it. It was just another place he didn’t feel like he belonged.

The chest was half full of books, journals, and loose papers, all of it written in his dad’s messy scrawl. Mike grabbed his backpack, fit in as much as he could, and closed the chest back up again, making it out to the barn. He climbed the loft ladder with ease, settling in with the familiar smell of hay around him and the shuffling hooves of sheep below. Then he picked up the topmost notebook and began to read.  


 

Beverly entered her house as quietly as she could. The front room was empty and she let out a breath, turning the corner and making for the bathroom. She stopped to peer into the living room too, and while the television had been left on, the couch was empty. She nearly had her fingers on the bathroom door handle when her father appeared from her bedroom, stepping in front of her and blocking her path.

“Hey Bevvy.” He said. He was in his mechanic’s uniform, looking ready to go to work, the “Alvin” stitched on his name tag beginning to fray. His voice was rough and almost-smiling, quiet and close. She swallowed, attempting to quell the revulsion creeping up her throat.

“Hi Daddy.” She said, unable to speak any louder than a whisper herself. He pointed to the pharmacy bag she had in her hands.

“What you got there?”

“Just some things.”

He took a look inside but the plastic bag was empty, save for a box of tampons. He made a bit of a face at that, and she watched him for a moment, holding her breath. He reached out, running a slow hand down the side of her head, letting his fingers weave through her hair.

“Tell me you’re still my little girl.”

Beverly wanted to scream. She hoped desperately that she wasn’t shaking.

“Yes Daddy.”

He touched her hair once more, trailing all the way through the long locks, his hand resting on her chest. He left it there for a moment, giving her the smallest of smiles when she didn’t try to move away.

“Good.”

Bile rose in Beverly’s throat and her father stepped aside. She rushed past him and into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. The bathroom was her safe haven, the place where her father gave her the smallest bit of privacy, a place she had to herself to do her “womanly things”.

She pulled the box of those womanly things out of the bag, placing them under the sink. It had been a bit embarrassing, caught buying tampons by a group of teenage boys she barely knew, but it was infinitely better than running into Gretta, which was what she’d been trying to avoid. Seeing Ben again had been nice though, despite how beaten up he’d been. She’d wanted to stay longer, but she’d told her father she wouldn’t be gone for long, and the older she’d gotten, the higher his paranoia was and the lower his patience.

She could still feel his hands on her, on her chest and in her hair. It made her feel dirty, just as greasy and disgusting as he was, as though no amount of the usual scalding showers could wash him off. She reached up, pulling on a strand of hair, running her fingers over it and shivering. Her stomach churned, eyes burning. She hated him.

A pair of scissors caught her eye in the cup on the sink and she grabbed them. Before she’d realized it, the lock of hair she’d been holding was disconnected, lying limp and dead in the sink. It was gone from her, and as she took in a breath she could feel herself beginning to cry.

“This is what you did.” She whispered. She was shaking, gritting her teeth as the scissors worked, hair falling away in chunks, her head a ragged mess by the time she was able to collect herself. A sob fell from her throat as she looked at her reflection, letting herself collapse to the floor. She could feel panic coming on; her dad would hate this. It would make him angry. He hadn't been angry with her in a good while, and she was desperate to keep it that way.

As soon as that thought crossed her mind though, so did another one. She felt better. Lighter. More free. That disgusting, possessive touch was gone from her now, and while she knew it wouldn’t be forever, it felt good in the moment, and that was what mattered. As she ruffled her fingers through the scruffy strands--her hair only came to the base of her jaw now, already curling at the ends--a laugh rose from her throat. Maybe she was going crazy, she thought, but at least she was doing it with a smile.

She pulled herself back to her feet, wiping her eyes and reaching again for the scissors. She needed to turn her new cut into something at least decent looking, hoping it was salvageable.

  


“Richie, throw one more rock and I swear to god I will break each of your fingers.” Stan warned. “One at a time.”

Richie’s fingers twitched, but he kept himself upright, resisting the urge to bend down and pick up another pebble and throw it at the library wall like he had with the first seventeen. This waiting around was killing him. Bill, Stan, Ben, and himself were already at the library but Eddie, the punctual one that always griped about everybody else’s tardiness, was nowhere to be seen. Richie didn’t know what could have happened, but in light of why they were at the library in the first place, he hoped it was simply because of his mother. Mrs. Kaspbrak was a behemoth of a woman, but Richie wasn’t afraid of her. She couldn’t run very fast or throw very well--two things Richie had found out the hard way through his lifetime of being Eddie’s friend--so the worst she could do to him was call his parents. That was nothing.

“Where is Eddie?” He asked. He was trying not to pace, but his legs didn’t want to be still. None of him ever did. “What do you think Mrs. K did to him? Finally put him in a full body cast, like she’s always wanted?”

“We could go in without him.” Stan said. “He wouldn’t mind.”

“But then Beverly wouldn’t know where to meet us.” Ben pointed out, Bill nodding in agreement.

“W-w-we didn’t tell her w-where we were going to be today.” He said. Richie rolled his eyes. They didn’t have plans with Beverly, just Eddie, so he wasn’t concerned about her. Besides, Bill and Ben were doing enough anxious down-the-street glances for all of them.

“Why d-don’t you go buy yourself an i-i-ice cream or something?” Bill suggested. Richie gave a hearty laugh.

“Big Billy Boy, if I had enough money for ice cream, I’d be buying myself some lunch.” He said. Ben gave him a look.

“Have you not eaten lunch? I can--”

“No, it’s ok.” Richie waved a quick hand. He didn’t want Ben’s money; the statement, while not untrue, had been meant as a joke. Looking unsure, Ben withdrew his hand from his back pocket.

“B-Beverly!” Bill called out, looking across the street and waving an arm. They all followed his gaze, Richie’s eyes catching on the telltale spark of red hair. Beverly jogged over to meet them, a smile on her face, in a dress with a small bag hanging from her shoulder. She greeted all of them, standing next to Bill.

“Y-y-your hair.” Bill stammered out, and it wasn’t until then that Richie noticed it; all of Beverly’s hair was chopped off, now even shorter than Richie’s own. It looked surprisingly fitting on her, but she put her hand up to it self consciously.

“Oh, I--”

“Your hair is beautiful, Beverly.” Ben cut in quickly, giving her an encouraging smile. She gave him a grateful one back, and in the corner of his eye Richie caught Stan in the middle of an eyeroll.

“Okay, but now where’s Eddie?” Richie asked.

“If you’re so worried, go to his house.” Stan offered. He was the only other one not giving Beverly their full attention; Richie wondered if Bill or Ben had even heard him.

“Don’t think I won’t, Stanley Uris.” Richie bent, picking up another pebble and tossing it at the wall behind them. It hit hard and bounced off, hitting Ben in the back. Ben didn’t notice, but Stan did.

“What did I tell you about the rocks?” He asked, reaching down and gripping one of Richie’s hands with both of his own.

“Please! Show me mercy!” The overdramatics were turned on at once, Richie sinking to his knees. “I was only trying to prepare for the Apocalyptic Rock War!”

“The what?” Stan’s expression turned puzzled. “Wait, would we be fighting against the rocks, or fighting using the rocks?”

“Don’t know. That’s why you’ve got to prepare.”

Stan laughed, releasing him just as a voice asked,

“Oh, you finally proposing or something?”

It was Eddie. Richie exclaimed his name and ran forward, grabbing him around the middle and spinning in a circle. He took advantage of the disorientation and pressed a sloppy kiss against Eddie’s cheek, feeling much more relieved than he thought he would to him arriving unscathed.

“Don’t be silly Eddie, you know you’re the only one for me!”

Eddie was bright red when Richie set him back down. He must have been given vertigo by the spin, because he didn’t have a single snappy retort or try to wipe off his cheek. He just punched Richie in the chest instead, grumbling.

“Shut up.”

“Are we ready to g-g-go into the library now, or are you guys going to m-make out?” Bill asked, his eyebrows raised. Beverly was smirking, and Richie stuck his tongue out in Eddie’s direction.

“How about it Eds?”

“Don’t call me Eds.” Eddie responded. “And put your tongue back in your mouth. Do you have any idea what germs are on that thing?”

“All the right ones?” Richie tried. Eddie snorted. Richie had the wild urge to lick Eddie’s cheek just to watch him squirm, but decided a moment later that he would quite like to hold on to his life, complying and closing his mouth.

They entered the library together, Bill filling Beverly in on what their mission was. She was incredibly sympathetic, touching Bill on the arm, which Richie could tell Bill appreciated. Richie pulled books halfway off the shelves as they walked, making the rows uneven just so he could watch Stan glare daggers at him and push them all back in place. As fun as it was to annoy Stanley--which was very, very fun--Richie also knew that Stan was quite vindictive, and after today he’d probably have to watch his back to avoid it being covered in maple syrup for the third time in three years, or something equally disastrous.

Ben led them directly to the book they’d come for. It looked thick and old and incredibly boring, so while the rest of them poured over it, Richie turned to Eddie.

“What made you so late?” He asked. “I thought your mom was going to pretend you had syphilis or something and say you couldn’t come.”

Eddie gave him what was very clearly a “don’t say syphilis” look. Richie was familiar with that one.

“She wouldn’t believe me when I said I was going to the library. She thought I was lying to her. So I told her I was going to ride bikes around the neighborhood with Bill, and suddenly I was ‘changing my story’.”

Richie put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

“Your mom’s a basket case, my friend.”

“I know.”

“But fear not! You aren’t alone! My mother would be rolling in her grave if she knew I was doing something as respectable as entering a library. She thinks I’m snorting coke off hookers as we speak.”

Eddie stared at him for a second before cracking up, leaning forward in silent laughter. Ben however, looked over with them at wide eyes. How he managed to tear his gaze from Beverly, Richie had no idea.

“Your mom’s dead?”

The question got everyone’s attention, Bill looking concerned, Bev looking stricken, and Stan looking exasperated.

“Richie, why are you telling people your mom’s dead?”

“I’m not! No Ben, she’s… She’s fine.”

Stan rolled his eyes again, turning back to the big book. Richie worried sometimes that if they hung out for too long with Stan, one day his eyes would just roll out of his head. But then he remembered Eddie telling him that the muscles that got worked the most often were the strongest, so maybe the opposite would happen. Stan’s eyes were body builders or something. He was in the middle of a disturbing mental image of Stan bench-pressing cars with his eyeballs when Bill made an exclamation, pointing down at the page.

“H-h-here!”

“Here too.” Beverly said, placing her finger down a few inches away.

“The last one’s here, I think.” Ben rested his finger on the page with them. “The gutter where Georgie’s shoe was found could go to one of these three openings. You guys were at this one the other day, when you found me.”

“We d-didn’t explore it v-very far.” Bill said. “We w-w-were only there a few minutes.”

“We’re going back to the sewers?” Eddie asked. “I don’t like tempting fate, you guys. All of us are going to get giardiasis. Or shigellosis! You don’t want cryptosporidiosis, do you?”

“None of what you just said was English.” Beverly told him, making Richie laugh.

“Come on Eds! If you’re so worried about your skin rotting off from terrible diseases, you can just ride on my back. I’ll be your trusty steed.”

“Nothing about you is trusty.”

“You wound me.”

“Could we g-go?” Bill asked. The nods were unanimous, Richie bending down in front of Eddie so he could hop on his back. Eddie snorted in amusement and shoved Richie’s shoulder, who flailed off balance and grabbed Ben for support. Eddie could probably bench-press cars with his eyes too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know I did the THING with richie's parents I mostly just needed an empty house for plot reasons and this was the first thing I thought of  
> It's really not mentioned much more than this dw

The sewers were a bit of a walk. Thanks to painfully fast growth spurts and the ability to drive, none of them rode their bikes much anymore, something that Stan was really missing as they went. His feet were starting to ache, but when he turned to ask Bill if he was experiencing the same thing, he saw his friend engaged in a quiet, slightly awkward-looking conversation with Beverly. Maybe he could take Eddie’s place and use Richie’s piggyback ride offer.

As they walked around a bend in the road, a car came into view. A very familiar black car.

“Hey! Bowers’s ride!” Richie exclaimed, rushing over to it. He took an exaggerated sniff. “Still minty fresh. You guys see any mud around here?”

“No, no.” Eddie said quickly, and Stan had to agree. “We’re not doing that again.”

“But it was fun!”

“It was, but still--” He stopped, frowning and pointing. “Is that the homeschooled kid’s bike?”

They all recognized the basket bicycle immediately, fallen to its side next to Bowers's car, books with “Derry Public Library” stamps on them spilling over the lawn. They must have just missed seeing him.

An incoherent shout made all of them jump, the voice horribly recognizable.

“Bowers.” Stan murmured. “They probably jumped him.”

“We have to help him!” Beverly insisted.

“We should?” Richie asked. Stan could understand his hesitancy; if Bowers tried to kill Ben just for being present when his car got fucked, the chance of them getting out of an encounter with the bully with all of their fingers, toes, eyes, or ears was slim. Beverly looked around at them all, openmouthed, as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Yes!”

Then she took off, and they had no choice but to follow. Stan’s long legs kept up with her easily, coming up on the edge of a creek, watching in alarm as she bent, picked up the biggest rock she could fit in her fist, and hurled it at Henry Bowers. It hit him so hard in the forehead that Stan could’ve sworn he heard something crack.

That got the attention of the whole group. The bullies had Mike Hanlon, the homeschooled kid, flat on his stomach on the ground, shoving his face into the water. The rock had Bowers taking his foot off the back of Mike’s head and staggering backwards, Vic and Huggins loosening their grips and letting Mike breathe.

“The fuck?” Huggins shouted, the skidding of sneakers signaling the arrival of rest of the group behind them. Henry looked up. His expression was absolutely murderous, the glare turning to a bit of a smirk when his eyes landed on Beverly.

“You losers are trying too hard!” He yelled at them. “She’ll do you. You’ve just got to ask nicely.” He rolled his hips, grabbing at his crotch. “Like I did.”

Ben let out an angry roar, a gargantuan rock already in his hand too, the sound so close and loud that it made Stan flinch. Both his friends and the bullies were starting to pick up stones, arming themselves for battle as Mike scrambled to get to their side of the creek. Stan didn’t know whether or not they would make it out of this rock fight alive. He didn’t know whether or not Richie could tell the future. There was one thing he was sure of, though: their new friends were crazy.

“ROCK WAR!” Richie shouted, and rocks went flying.

Stan tried his hardest to dodge and keep his head down, picking up the sharpest pieces of rock he could find and hurling them across the creek. It was particularly satisfying when he managed to hit one of them, but they hit him right back and goddamn, the rocks hurt. Eddie let out a battle cry, leaping into the water to get closer, beaming Huggins straight in the face. Huggins cursed at them as Bill jumped in the water too, but after another direct hit from Beverly, began to retreat.

Bill threw a particularly large stone, hitting Bowers right between the eyes. It seemed to happen in slow motion, Stan watching in amazement as the bully fell on his ass.

The fight wrapped up quickly after that. As soon as Bowers was down and out they wasted no time, Stan grabbing one of Mike’s shoulders and steering him back the way they’d come. Behind them, Richie yelled.

“Go blow your dad, you mullet-wearing asshole!”

“Fuck all, it’s like he wants to die.” Eddie murmured from next to him. They made it to safety, Ben and Beverly picking up Mike’s books, Ben walking with his bike until they were far away from the car and the creek. Then they stood there, taking in each other’s injuries.

Stan hadn’t been hit too many times, he realized. Not when he looked over the others. All of them had cuts somewhere on their faces, one on Bill’s lip looking particularly deep, nasty, and badass. Beverly was bleeding from her nose, Eddie from a nick on his chin, and Richie was smiling at them from a nasty forehead wound that was running blood into his eyes. Ben looked incredibly banged up, though it was hard to tell what was old and what was new, and Mike looked half drowned. Everyone had a few growing welts.

“We kicked their asses!” Richie shouted, arms thrown in the air as though he hadn’t just been beamed in the forehead by a lump of breccia the size of his fist. “We. Kicked. Their. Asses.”

“Yeah.” Beverly was beginning to grin, though it looked like it hurt. “We did.”

“We need to do something though.” Eddie was beginning to panic, trying to fuss over the cut on Richie’s head but was hilariously too short to do so. “We need to disinfect.”

“C’mon Eds, you didn’t seem worried about germs when you jumped into that creek!” Richie told him, bending down in compliance. “That was fucking awesome, Spaghetti Man.”

Eddie’s smile was muted, like he was trying very hard to hold it in and continue looking disapproving.

“Is there anywhere we can go and wash up?” Beverly asked. There was only one place where parents wouldn’t ask any questions, Bill, Eddie, and Stan himself all looking to Richie. He beamed.

“To my house!” He declared grandly. “We can get patched up there. Mom won’t mind, if she’s even home.”

They began walking, Stan leading the way as he pressed the heel of his hand to the cut on his cheek. The procession only made it a few paces however, Ben stopping when he noticed that Mike wasn’t coming along.

“You too, Homeschool.” Richie told him, extending the invitation with a wave of his hand. “C’mon.”

“You guys shouldn’t have done that for me.” Mike said. He frowned, looking troubled. “Now they’ll be after you too.”

“What, Bowers and his gang?” Eddie asked. “Nah, they already beat up on us.”

Richie nodded in an almost proud manner, coming up behind Mike to slap him on the back, both as a show of camaraderie and a means to urge him forward.

“Welcome to the Loser’s Club.”

Richie’s house was a little farther than any of them wanted to walk, but eventually they made it. Richie gave a bit of a bow as the building came into view, putting on a terrible accent that wasn’t really from anywhere.

“My humble abode.”

There was nothing “humble” about Richie’s house, full to the brim with fancy, out-of-place furniture and needlessly expensive knick-knacks. Mr. Tozier liked things better than people, which was quite fortunate, because he liked his job better than his family, too. No one was home, as expected. There wasn’t much of a sign that anyone had been in the lower floor of the house in a while.

“Where is your mom?” Ben asked, glancing around. “Work?”

Richie shook his head. “No job. I dunno; she does this sometimes. And if she is home she’s drunk, so I really don’t care.”

Richie did care, though. Stan knew how many years Richie had tried hard to care about her, tried to get her to sober up or come home. After years of it not making a difference, he’d started to stifle those feelings, confessing to Stan once at near three a.m. that the less he cared, the less it hurt. Richie tried to keep himself convinced that he didn’t need her; he didn’t need either of them. It worked most of the time.

 

 

Eddie took control of the first aid as soon as they all were inside the kitchen, asking his friends to line up in order of who was most needed medical attention, Richie digging around in his cabinets for any supplies they could use. Eddie hadn't brought anything more than a few spare bandages, hand sanitizer, and his inhaler--his mother had confiscated the rest, claiming he didn't need anything if he truly was just going to the library, which was the dumbest thing Eddie had heard in awhile. He'd tried not to tell her that, but it had slipped out anyway.

Mike was pushed towards him first, but after a quick once-over Eddie found that all things considered, Mike didn't need much of anything except for some ice, and time to recover from the emotional trauma of nearly being drowned in a creek by the Bowers gang. He told Mike to go sit down but Mike wanted to help, so Eddie asked him to start getting ice instead. They'd need a lot of it.

Stan was offered up next, because while Ben and Bill were most badly banged up, they were refusing to get help before Beverly, Bev trying to argue about how stupid that was. Stan gave him a sheepish look.

“I’m really okay.” He said earnestly. He had a stripe of red on his cheekbone where the skin had split and bled, now bruising. Eddie gave him the quick rinse-peroxide-bandage treatment, really wishing he had some sort of gloves to wear, his jaw clenching every time his friend flinched.

“Sorry.” He said. “Go get some ice from Mike, then drag Bill over here. His lip is still bleeding.”

Stan did as he was told, and a second later Bill was shoved into the chair in front of Eddie by Stan and Beverly, stuttering out protests. His lip looked rather nasty, the whole front of his shirt covered in blood. He tried to tell Eddie something, but between a stutter and now a swollen lip, it was near impossible.

Ben and Beverly both were very good patients, keeping still as he cleaned their wounds, and then it was time for Eddie to wrangle Richie. The gangly teen had been flailing around the house, grabbing things they needed--water for everyone, more bandaids or peroxide, a clean shirt for Bill--and while he was possibly the worst injured, Eddie knew that Richie still had too much adrenaline in his system to stop moving and get his head looked at, so he’d just let him go.

He approached Richie now with peroxide and a paper towel, ready to demand that he sit still when Richie looked at him and blinked.

“You know you’re bleeding too, right?”

“What?” Eddie looked down, his eyes catching on a spot of blood that he was pretty positive wouldn’t be coming out of his yellow t-shirt. He felt around on his face until he touched the scrape on his chin, hissing out a breath when it stung. He’d been so worried about his friends that he hadn’t even felt it. “Shit.”

“Let me clean it for you!” Richie offered excitedly, taking the peroxide from Eddie’s hand. “I know what to do, I promise.”

“There’s no way of knowing the last time you washed your hands.” Eddie said in declination.

“C’mon Eds, it’s good for you! Ever heard ‘rub some dirt in it’?”

“And how many people that said that have died of tetanus? Probably all of them. Except the people that got anthrax poisoning first.”

Richie wasn’t really listening to the jape, looking over the bottle of peroxide.

“What would happen if I drank this?”

“It would burn through your intestines and you would die.”

Richie laughed. “No kidding.”

Eddie took the bottle back, a bandaid over his cleaned chin wound in no time. Between his mother and his friend group, Eddie had plenty of experience patching people up, including himself. Nobody else seemed to care when they had scraped knees or other arbitrary scratches, but he couldn’t just let his friends walk around in such a susceptible state. It made his eye twitch.

“Now it’s your turn, trashmouth. Bend down so I can look at you.”

Richie complied, but it soon became apparent that the arrangement wasn’t going to work for long. The rest of the group was sitting around the dining room table icing their wounds, Beverly now in the chair Eddie had been using, and Eddie didn’t want to ask her to get up for him.

“Here.” Richie offered, patting the countertop. Eddie understood, jumping up and sitting, his legs dangling over the edge. Richie’s head was angled down, looking at his lap until Eddie used a couple of fingers to tilt his chin up. Richie swallowed.

“I like those shorts.” He said. “You look cute in them.”

Eddie willed himself not to flush. The shorts were pretty old, red with a rainbow stripe down each side. He'd been absolutely drowning in them when he'd first gotten them, the waist cinched as tight as it would go, but now he figured they were getting a little too small.

“Do you really want to tease the guy with full access to your gaping head wound?” Eddie asked, raising his eyebrows. Richie chuckled.

“How about you learn to take a compliment, Kaspbrak.”

Eddie bit hard on the inside of his cheek, but knew Richie could tell he was trying not to smile. Then Richie moved his hand, placing it palm down on Eddie's thigh, on the skin where either the shorts had hiked up from him clambering onto the counter or just weren't long enough to cover anymore, and it was suddenly so, so much harder to focus on the gash on Richie's forehead. He hoped Richie couldn't hear his heart beating as loud as he could feel it.

Eddie was not in love with Richie Tozier. Richie was loud, obnoxious, gross, and liked to tease him way too much. He was tall and cute but gangly too, his hands always so warm that Eddie often wanted to check and make sure he wasn't running a fever.

“Here, hold your hair back.” Eddie instructed, brushing a few strands out of Richie’s eyes as he took off his glasses. By some miracle, Richie did what he was told twice in a row, Eddie dipping a paper towel into warm water and beginning to clean the blood off Richie’s face. Richie simply watched him, his eyes traveling Eddie’s face as he worked. Eddie couldn’t stand the silence for more than a couple of minutes.

“This is the most still and quiet you’ve ever been.” He remarked. “Someone needs to write this date down. Make it a national holiday.”

“Just trying not to mess you up, Doc. This is my face we’re talking about. If even an inch of it got screwed up, your mom would mourn for weeks.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, his default response to Richie’s mom jokes after learning that telling him to shut up just wasn’t going to cut it. Richie blinked at him.

“You do that a lot.”

“Do what?”

“Roll your eyes at me.”

“Yeah. It’s because you say a lot of stupid shit.”

“Oh.”

For a moment, Eddie felt bad.

“You… You make me laugh though, too. You know that.”

Richie winked at him, using his free hand for a finger gun.

“Well, that is my life’s calling after all. I’ve gotta be good at it.”

“What?”

“Purpose on Earth: make Edward Kaspbrak smile. I’m even going to major in it in college.”

“Oh, shut up.” Eddie responded. He didn’t want the words to make him happy--it was just more of Richie’s stupid teasing after all, just like everything else was--but his heart wouldn’t listen. Richie grinned, pointing at his face.

“See? I’m acing this thing already.”

Eddie placed the adhesive bandage over Richie's forehead wound with gentle fingers. It was huge tan rectangle that wasn't nearly as cool as Bill's busted lip.

“Well nurse?” Richie asked, taking a step back to let Eddie take in the whole picture. “How sexy do I look?”

Eddie bit his lip and grinned.

“You got hit in the face with a rock.” He responded. “You look like a huge dumb dork.”

Richie beamed at him, and for a moment every single thing was right in the world.

Okay, maybe Eddie was in love with Richie Tozier. But only a little bit.

 

 

Finally, everyone was bandaged up. Mike watched as Richie and Eddie also came over to them, noticing the table was one chair short. He was about to get up and offer his own seat when Stanley simply scooted over, now taking up part of Bill’s chair, the two sitting half on top of each other, and Richie and Eddie sat down.

“Thanks for all of this.” Beverly said to Eddie, Mike nodding along to her words. She was holding a washcloth full of ice to a knot on the side of her head. “You did a really great job.”

“Yeah, you should be a nurse or something.” Ben agreed. Eddie pulled a face.

“And touch other people’s gross and diseased bodies? No way.”

“But you’d get paid to touch them.” Richie pointed out.

“Unlike your sister, who touches gross bodies for free.”

“...do you have a sister?” Ben asked.

“You’re right Eds, you couldn’t be a nurse. The world isn’t ready for you in that nurse outfit.” Richie let out a loud wolf whistle. “The skirt alone--”

“Beep beep, Richie.” Eddie said, flicking Richie’s forehead bandage and making him yelp. Beverly looked over at Bill in an almost accusing manner.

“And you’re sure they’re not dating?”

“It’s all teasing.” Eddie said quickly. Mike felt his eyebrows go up his forehead.

“I'd be cheating on my main squeeze!” Richie said, mock indignance in his voice. “I would never do Eddie’s mom dirty like that.” Even as he spoke, Richie was stretching an arm across the back of Eddie’s chair. “I mean, I do her dirty every night, but--”

“Beep beep, Trashmouth.” This time it was Stan. Beverly seemed unconvinced, but changed the subject anyway.

“So… Your parents are never home?” She asked Richie, something akin to envy in her voice. “Is this where all the wild midnight ragers happen?”

“Oh, you mean me lying around and eating a disgusting amount of Cheetos in my underwear?” Richie asked. He sent a wink her way. “Because those are biweekly, baby. Just come on over.”

Bev looked around at all of them in disbelief.

“You guys really don't hang out here all the time?”

“The no parents thing sounds cool, except then your mom doesn’t go grocery shopping for four weeks and you’re left eating peanut butter and lunch meat sandwiches.” Richie said with a sigh. Mike couldn’t believe he was talking about something like this so offhandedly, but Stan pulled a face.

“Watching you eat one of those was the worst experience of my life.” He said, Richie sitting up indignantly.

“But it’s full of protein. That’s good, right? Isn’t that how food works?”

“You can eat a peanut butter sandwich, and you can eat a sandwich with lunch meat in it, but you can’t eat them together.”

“You’re telling me to eat one of them just by themselves? That’s even worse.”

“Okay, you can’t buy more bread with the tiny amount of money that you have for yourself, but you’re able to keep the house stocked with…” Stan reached forward into the pile of first aid supplies, picking up the first thing his hand landed on. He frowned, sounding the word out carefully. “...hydrocortisone ointment? What does this even do?”

“That stuff’s important.” Richie mumbled, glancing down, and Mike would have bet money that he was looking at Eddie’s hands, which the little hypochondriac had resting in his lap. Bill took advantage of the lull in the argument, cutting in.

“We're n-not really allowed to be here all together.” He said. “Eddie's mom k-k-kinda…”

“She hates my guts.” Richie supplied helpfully. “And she’s that crazy kind of mom that actually calls the house of the hangout to make sure her child is ‘doing okay’. As far as she knows, Eddie’s never actually been here.”

“Maybe she hates you because you make jokes about her all of the time.” Ben supplied. Richie gave the suggestion mock consideration before shaking his head.

“Nah, though that would definitely be the reason if she knew about it. I’m pretty positive it happened when I accidentally set her Christmas lights on fire with my cigarette. A word to the wise: never try to climb out of Eddie’s window and smoke a Winston at the same time.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“No w-w-way.” Bill interjected. “That happened l-last year, Richie. She’s hated you for way longer t-t-than that.”

“Was it the drunken serenading thing then?” Richie looked perplexed, scratching his head. “Careless Whisper is a classic, regardless of how late into the night it’s being blasted at Eddie’s window.”

“I t-t-think it was the p-puking in their garden afterwards t-that made her mad, Richie.”

“You just started existing, and that’s when she knew.” Stan said. Richie laughed, pointing at him.

“That’s the one. I’m Sonia Kaspbrak’s mortal enemy, from the womb to the grave.”

“Never, ever say ‘womb’ ever again.” Beverly requested.

“Uterus?” Richie tried.

“Beep beep.” Beverly said. Then she looked between Eddie and Stan. “Did I use it right?”

Mike wondered how long these six had been hanging out together. He couldn’t quite tell, but they seemed like a nice group. As though able to read his thoughts, Stan turned to him.

“We noticed all of the books and stuff with your bike; were you at the library before you got jumped? Because we were there too and we didn't see you.”

“I…” Mike faltered, swallowing. “Yeah, I was there, but something happened. I left the library maybe a half hour after you guys found me.”

“Bowers was beating on you for half an hour?” Richie asked. He sounded almost impressed, but Mike couldn’t tell if he was impressed by the fact that he’d let the gang wail on him for that long, or impressed by the fact that he was still alive. Either way, he was wrong.

“No, I… I saw something.”

“Something?” Beverly pressed. Mike took a long breath. Part of him--an embarrassingly large part, he found--wanted to pretend that nothing had happened, suppress the occurrence until his hands stopped shaking. He clasped them on the table, giving his head a small shake. He could trust this group, and he needed to tell someone.

“I was walking my bike back, because I’d checked out too many books to fit in the basket and had to carry some. I turned to go through the woods--there’s a shortcut to my house past that creek--when I saw a man in the trees. He was holding a large bag in one hand, and… Something in the other, and…” Mike’s mouth felt incredibly dry, but he knew that drinking anything would make him nauseous. “He was dressed as a clown.”

“A c-c-c-clown?” Bill asked. “That’s weird.”

None of them were nearly as scared as he felt they should be, and Mike realized they didn’t know.

“Are you afraid of clowns?” Stan asked, misreading his expression. Mike figured he must seem silly, and was eternally grateful to them all for not laughing at him.

“Not… Not really.” He got up, walking over to his backpack and bringing it over. He unzipped it and began pulling things out, everyone looking surprised.

“Do homeschooled kids not get summer break?” Richie asked in a voice of faint horror.

“These are all my dad’s journals.” Mike began. “He was really interested in all the bad stuff that always seemed to happen in Derry. He thought that they might all be caused by something. The same thing.”

He brought out the pictures he’d managed to find: a clown streaking away from the charred Black Spot, a clown posing for a photo with the rest of the participants in the Easter Parade, before the Kitchener Ironworks explosion. Sightings around town: a dressed up man in the background of photos. A few sketches done by artists who said their houses were broken into. It was a man with cartoonishly bright orange hair, the white facepaint bringing stark attention to his receding hairline. His nose was painted red and so were his lips, the corners of his mouth drawn so far up his face that they went through his eyes and up past his eyebrows. His costume was endowed with red pompoms and ribbons and looked as though the ruffles were once white, but had dirtied and greyed for years. The only bright whites were his gloves.

“Clown.” Eddie breathed.

“All these events happened years apart from each other, but my dad thought the clown was the same person. I measured things, real life things in the photos, so I could check his height, and it’s the same in all of the photos. The same build. So, logically, same guy.”

“And you saw this clown?” Stan asked. “Jesus. What was he carrying?”

“I don’t know.” Mike confessed. “Or… I don’t know what was in the bag, at least. But I saw the thing in his hand. It took me a long time to realize what it was. It wasn’t until he saw me staring at him, and he smiled, and… Waved it at me. It was an arm.”

“An arm?” Ben echoed. He looked pale. He stuck his own arm out into the middle of the table. “Like… An _arm_ arm?”

Mike nodded. Now that he’d started talking, he couldn’t seem to stop.

“The wrist had a bracelet on it, and I realized that I recognized it. So I went back into town, and found out where I’d seen it before.” He opened up a folder, one he was using to collect new evidence into. He pulled out Betty Ripsom’s missing poster. The girl had her face resting on her fist, and sure enough, a bracelet was there. “It looked just like this one. The beads were little pink flowers.” He swallowed again, a sick feeling rising in his stomach. “I think it was Betty Ripsom’s arm, and I think the thing in the bag…”

“...was Betty Ripsom.” Richie finished. “Fuck, dude. Shit.”

“W-w-w-w-w-wait.” Bill looked so shaken that he was about to break. “I-i-i-if… If he h-had B-B-Betty, then t-the other kids… W-who is he? We h-have to g-g-go b-back to w-w-w-where you saw him.”

Before Mike could respond, Stan had a hand on Bill's arm.

“No.” He said, and he sounded deadly serious. “If that guy really is some crazy clown with a girl in a body bag, we need to go to the police.”

“He's long gone anyway.” Mike said. “He disappeared, and I didn't see which way he went.”

Bill looked angry for a moment, as though he'd let the clown go on purpose.

“Hey, what is all this stuff?” Beverly had reached forward, looking through one of the journals that he'd brought over. “Who is 'Robert Gray’?”

“I feel like I've heard that name before.” Ben said, frowning. “Was he in the news, or something?”

“Yeah, but it was a long time ago.” Mike flipped through his things, trying to find the copy he had that detailed the Gray family court case. When he did he placed it down on the table, everyone leaning forwards to look at it.

“The whole Gray family lived here a long time ago, and they ran the butcher shop in town.”

“The one your family sells to?” Richie asked. Mike nodded.

“Yeah, that one. They didn't keep the place up to code, so they got into trouble a lot, but they always kept their prices low, so they stayed in business. They always had stuff to sell, but it didn't come out for a couple years that when animal meat they had was in short supply, they would… With people…”

Mike didn't want to say it. Thankfully, one by one, the Losers got what he meant. Eddie was the last one, and the horror on his face had Mike worried for a moment that he might fall out of his chair.

“They would kidnap people and… Sell them?” Beverly asked hesitantly.

“They wouldn’t always sell all of them.” Mike said. “There were some people that they… Kept, and…”

“And ate, yeah.” Richie finished. “What’s this got to do with our killer clown?”

“The family got caught and sent to prison, but the police couldn't find their son. He was only a teenage boy, but he’d been in on the whole thing. Multiple people saw him running out of town, including my grandfather, but searches of the surrounding areas never came up with anything. My dad thought he doubled back. My dad thought he never left.”

“The kid is Robert Gray, isn't he.” Stan’s voice was quiet. “If he never left, where the hell does he live?”

Mike had a bunch of police reports, pulling them out as he spoke. They piled up in the table in front of him.

“People reported break-ins and theft, but it was never any valuable stuff; food, cutlery, things like that. Some people said they'd noticed things being moved in their houses for days--even weeks--before they saw someone, as though someone had been secretly living there. Eventually, mangled bodies started showing up. Then someone got a picture of him, but nobody recognized his face.”

Mike pulled the picture out, placing it side by side with the mugshot of Mr. Gray. Both of the men had similar features, the same hooded eyes and thin upper lip, the same balding pattern in the hair.

“But my dad recognized him. As soon as the photo showed up in the papers, the clown sightings started instead.”

Nobody said anything as he finished. Feeling slightly discouraged, Mike slowly sat back down. He’d had his head in this stuff for days, doing tons of reading and following the trail his father had left behind. It hadn’t really occurred to him how crazy it could sound to anyone else.

“So… The clown is Robert Gray?” Ben asked.

“My dad thought so.”

“But there haven't been any break-ins recently. There haven't been any in awhile.”

“If he got himself a place to live, he wouldn't need to live in other people's houses.” Richie pointed out.

“But what neighbors don't notice a guy in a clown costume living right next door?” Beverly asked. “He'd need a job, a life…” She pointed to Gray’s picture. “The town is too small. We would have seen a guy that looks like this.”

Bill, who had been very still and quiet, licked his lips nervously before speaking.

“The s-sewers.”

“People don't live in sewers.” Eddie was looking more and more uncomfortable. “How could someone stand it? Where would they sleep? What--”

“Why didn't your dad tell anyone?” Beverly asked Mike, cutting him off. “This stuff could really be important.”

“He tried. They laughed him off as soon as they heard 'Robert Gray’. Said they didn't want to deal with that past stuff anymore. But I have a bunch of other things that my dad has put together that might help us find him. It's at home; we could go tomorrow and read over it if you guys want.”

“Why t-tomorrow?” Bill asked. He looked anxious; jittery almost. Mike pointed to the window. The sun was already making its way down.

“Shit, I've got to go home.” Eddie jumped to his feet. “Shit, shit, I’m way later than I should be, she’s going to notice my injuries, she’s--”

“Be cool, Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie said. His carefree tone seemed to piss Eddie off even more, raising his voice.

“Be cool? Have you _met_ my mom?”

Richie frowned, leaning back in his chair to glance up at Eddie’s face. He tugged lightly on the front of Eddie’s shirt.

“Do you want me to spend the night then?”

Every single head turned in their direction, and Mike could tell that as far as sleepovers were concerned, he wasn’t the only one out of the loop.

“No!” Eddie blushed a burning scarlet. “No, I… I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll walk with you, Eddie.” Beverly said, getting to her feet. After seeing the setting sun, her face had gone a bit pale. “I need to get going too. Where should we meet tomorrow?”

All eyes looked to Bill, who had to think for a few moments.

“Is t-that Bunyan statue in the m-m-middle of town g-good for everybody?” He asked. After a collective group of nods people began standing, ready to head home. Ben rushed over to Beverly’s bag, putting it on her shoulder for her.

“Have a good night, Beverly.” He said, smiling. She gave him a soft smile back, throwing an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, and the two set off into the gathering dusk.

 

 

“Damn, I’m going to get back so late. If I don’t show tomorrow, just tell everyone else to go on without me.” Eddie said. Beverly nodded, pulling a cigarette from the box in her purse.

“Sure. Why, you going to get grounded or something?”

“My mom doesn’t ‘ground’ me. She takes me to the doctor all day and has them do tests on me. I’ve had nineteen CAT scans. I’m only sixteen.”

Beverly lit up, then took a long, slow drag. She couldn’t imagine having a parent like Eddie’s. It seemed like it could be nice though, having someone that cared so much.

“So.” She glanced over at Eddie, smiling a little. He looked back. He seemed nervous to be walking alone with her, but she wanted to ask him something. “About Richie.”

His ears turned pink immediately.

“What about him?”

“That’s what I want to know.”

Eddie shrugged. Beverly had the feeling that the action was supposed to look casual, but it really, really didn’t.

“He’s super tall and a complete idiot, though somehow he aces everything in school without trying, which is completely outrageous because it’s like his brain is hardwired for stupid shit. He says a lot of gross stuff too but he actually does care, and you can always tell him to shut up--not that he’ll listen probably, but you could try--and sometimes--”

“When did you realize you were in love with him?” Beverly cut in. She had a feeling Eddie’s rambling about Richie could go on for a good while, so she decided to cut to the chase. Eddie fell completely silent, and for a second Beverly thought he might try to deny it. But he had to know how obvious he was; he had to realize how pointless that would be.

“...I don’t know.” He finally admitted. His eyes were on the ground. “Awhile ago, I guess. But… But I shouldn’t, it’s wrong, and bad, and he’s my friend, I…”

Eddie let out a loud breath, swallowing hard. Beverly frowned at him.

“Eddie, do you… Do you not see the way he looks at you?”

“What?” Eddie shook his head. “He just teases me. He likes to tease me like that, pinching my cheeks and all that shit. He doesn’t… Nothing’s serious.”

“Eddie.” She tried again, waiting until he was looking her in the eyes. “Seriously?”

Eddie was quiet again, looking down at his feet as they moved. He moved quickly, but didn't seem to get very far; Beverly could keep up easily.

“Sometimes… Sometimes I want to think that maybe, but…” He shook his head. “It's wrong, and bad, and he's my friend.”

Eddie stopped, staring at a house down the street with a resigned sort of loathing. That must be where he lived. Beverly put her cigarette out against the heel of her shoe.

“There's nothing wrong about loving someone, Eddie. Okay? Fuck whatever…” She looked down the street at the house too, imagining Eddie's overanxious mother sitting inside. “Fuck whatever anybody else says.”

Eddie gave her a small smile. “I… Thanks, I guess.”

“Yeah.” She shrugged, touching his shoulder. “See you tomorrow, maybe.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Eddie walked home, and Bev set off down the street. She could only hope that by some miracle, her father wasn't home. She wasn't allowed to stay out past sunset anymore, and as unpredictable as her father's behavior could be, she knew for certain that her consequences for staying out past curfew wouldn't just be a trip to the doctor's.

When she opened her front door, a blast of sound from the television hit her like a gust of wind. She stood there for a moment, swallowing. The TV was loud, which always meant her father was drunk. That meant this encounter could go two ways; good enough or very, very bad.

Against all of her expectations, Alvin Marsh was passed out on the couch. She wanted to cry in relief, creeping past and going into her room. She changed out of her clothes and into a set of pajamas, doing everything she needed to get ready for bed. As she rifled around in her bag for her cigarette and lighter, ready to hide them in her dug out copy of Gone With The Wind, something fluttered out of it and onto the floor.

She frowned, bending to pick it up. It was a “Welcome to Derry Maine” postcard, a picture of a large white lighthouse taking up the majority of the front. Confused, she turned the postcard over.

_Your hair is winter fire!_  
_January embers!_  
 _My heart burns there too_

It was from a “Secret Admirer”, her name written in on the address half of the postcard. Beverly stared at it, reading it over and over again, biting her lip as her cheeks began to ache from smiling. She ran her finger over the last line of the poem, unable to believe it. Someone liked her.

As soon as that happiness was there though, it was chased by another feeling. Her father. He would ruin this; he always ruined everything. She needed to hide it, but wanted desperately not to part with it, stuffing it quickly under her pillow. It was a temporary place, but as long as she was home too, it would work.

It soon became apparent that the blaring of the television from the living room wouldn’t let her sleep. She didn’t want to go back out there, terrified of waking her father up from his drunken stupor, but she couldn’t help herself. After mussing her hair up a little, trying to look disheveled and fresh from bed, Beverly walked out into the living room.

She stepped lightly and gripped the knob, trying to turn the volume down gradually, hoping that the lack of sudden change wouldn’t disturb him. It didn’t work.

“Bevvy?” He sat up fast, red indentions on his face from the blanket thrown over the arm of the couch, his breath smelling strongly of hard liquor. He seemed confused and slightly angry. “When did you get home?”

“I've been home Daddy.” She answered, gesturing to her pajamas. He seemed puzzled by the sight of her bedclothes. “You’ve been drinking. You sent me to my room.”

She could tell he knew that the story didn't quite match up, but was too inebriated to be completely sure. She didn't wait around for him to figure it out, bidding him a goodnight and hurrying to her room. When he didn't follow her, she took it as a good sign.

“Your hair is winter fire.” She murmured to herself, and again a smile grew on her face. A secret admirer. She got quickly into bed, tucking the covers under her chin, holding onto her pillow. The top of her finger touched one of the corners of the postcard and she beamed, a warm ball of happy light swelling in her chest. Beverly nestled her face in her pillow, now excited for the day ahead, and tried to fall asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a lil head's up: this chapter has a vague (very vague) description of sexual abuse in it. hopefully the reddie makes up for it though!

“I got you ice cream.”

Bill watched as Eddie held out a cone with a huge vanilla scoop on it in Richie's direction. He had two, one of them obviously his and already licked on. His voice completely lacked enthusiasm, Stan snorting in amusement, but Bill noticed that Beverly was grinning. Richie gripped at his chest as though he'd just been shot.

“Eds! You shouldn't have!”

Then he leaned forwards, leaned completely past the ice cream Eddie was extending to him, and licked at the one Eddie was holding close to his body. Eddie shrieked and recoiled, and Richie laughed at him.

“That one's mine! I was already eating it!”

“Oh!” Richie's eyes widened with a mock innocence. “My mistake!” He reached for the one Eddie was trying to give him, who snatched it back.

“Nope. Mine now. You get the one with your germs all over it.”

Richie accepted without complaint, licking the ice cream again.

“Hm. Vanilla with a side of Eddie.”

Eddie scrunched up his nose. “You're disgusting.”

Richie just winked.

“Hey guys!” Ben walked up happily, waving. He looked much better today, Bill noted, than he had the days previous, waving back. Beverly greeted him when he arrived, and now they were just waiting for Mike. Bill was feeling near exhausted with anxiety. Everything that Mike had shared with them yesterday had been both good and bad, both fitting and terrifying, and part of him wished he’d never heard it. But he had something to go on now. Georgie hadn’t fallen into the sewer; he’d been taken there. But Betty Ripsom had been taken only a week before Georgie had, and if she was already dead, if the clown really had been holding her body… They needed to find him as fast as they could.

As if in compliance with his thoughts, Mike came into view, riding fast on his bicycle.

“Sorry.” He gasped. “I’m late.”

He wasn’t--they’d never set up a time to meet--but Bill wasn’t about to tell him to slow down, Mike talking in a rush about how he’d had to take a detour because he thought he’d seen Bowers’s car.

“It’s probably free now, though.” He said. “We can cut across the creek to get there.”

Nodding, they set off walking. Beverly walked next to him, Ben on her other side while Stan trailed behind, striking up a small conversation with Mike. Eddie and Richie flitted around the group, bickering lightly like they always did as they finished their ice creams. Bill supposed their banter would be amusing if he was paying it attention, but it was near impossible to distract his mind from the task ahead. Part of him wished he could, but any time that he spent not looking for Georgie always haunted him, coming back to him as time wasted, time he was letting his brother suffer.

Richie ran ahead as the creek came into view. He let out a shout as soon as he reached the edge of the water, throwing out his arms and skidding to a stop so suddenly that Eddie ran into him and nearly fell down.

“What?” Stan asked. They all hurried over, Beverly cursing under her breath.

“Is… Is that…?”

Laying face up in the creek, eyes wide, bobbing lightly as the current rushed around it was the head, torso, and left arm of a girl. She was pale, bloated, and blue from the water, her dark brown hair a mess around her face. Despite all this, Bill recognized her instantly. He’d seen her enough times, looking into her eyes for a moment before stapling Georgie’s missing poster overtop of her own.

“B-B-Betty Ripsom.”

“Fuck.” Eddie twisted one of his hands into the back of Richie’s shirt, the other grappling with the zipper of his fanny pack as his breathing became increasingly quick and labored. “Shit.”

Stan stumbled over, but as soon as he looked down into the water he turned his back, his body heaving, and soon he was vomiting in a patch of grass a few paces away.

“We…” Ben looked incredibly pale, his eyes on everything except the body in the water. “The police. Someone. We need to tell someone.”

“I’ll go.” Mike said instantly, jumping on his bike. He was out of sight soon enough, struggling to race through the overgrown grass. Richie had gone over to comfort Stan, rubbing his back as he dry-heaved, Eddie still clutching onto him, inhaler in hand, struggling his breathing under control. Bill continued to look down, the corpse’s wide, dead, cold eyes boring into him.

“Stop!” Beverly took his chin in her hand, wrenching his eyes away. “Stop staring at her, I can’t stand it.”

Her eyes were bright, alive, and warm, though she looked close to tears.

“S-sorry.” He mumbled.

“You just… You looked so terrible. I’m sorry.” Beverly let him go. “I--”

“Georgie was j-just a w-w-week later.” Bill said. “A w-week after s-s-she went missing. A-and… If she’s already d-d-d-d-d…”

He couldn’t get the word out, Beverly meeting his eyes again.

“We’ll find him, okay?” She said fiercely. “We’re going to find him.”

The conviction in her voice made something inside of him crack, and she must have felt it because she pulled him in tightly for a hug. Her arms were around him so strongly that it hurt, but Bill knew that if she let up on her grip, even a little bit, he would fall apart.

 

 

The questioning from the police took hours. Most of it was waiting around, instructed not to go anywhere as each of the seven of them had individual statements about their discovery taken one at a time. Eddie couldn’t help but feel that they were suspects now, especially with the way one of the policemen kept glancing sideways at where they were sitting--Mike moreso than the rest of them--as he walked by. Ben patted his arm and told him he was just being paranoid, but the feeling gnawed at him anyway.

By the time they’d all spoken, Betty’s body had been recovered from the water and transported to the station. It was on a gurney and covered in a blue tarp, and in a weird way not being able to see it made it all the worse, watching in silence as it was rolled past. The police offered to call their parents, and Bill was the only one that accepted, thinking that they would want to know. The parents of Betty Ripsom were alerted too, showing up not much later, and they watched as Betty’s mother fell apart, sinking to the floor, her husband kneeling next to her in tears. It came as a relief when Eddie looked at the clock and realized it was half past four. His mother insisted that he be home by five o’clock for the rest of the week, and if he wanted to make it in time, he would have to leave soon.

None of them were upset by his announcement, abandoning the plan to go to Mike’s and pushing it to tomorrow instead. For this, Eddie was glad; none of them--but definitely not Bill, judging by the expression on his face--needed talk of a killer clown after what they had been through that day.

Mrs. Denbrough offered everyone rides home but only Ben and Beverly accepted, Eddie heading out the police station doors with Richie next to him. Eddie hadn’t asked if they could walk together and Richie hadn’t offered, but Richie went all the way up to his front door, comfortable silence keeping distance between them.

“Hey, Eddie?” Richie stopped him before he went inside, placing a hand on his arm. Eddie swallowed.

“Yeah?”

“D’you think you could… Could you leave your bedroom window unlocked tonight?” Richie’s head was angled down, his bangs falling in front of his face, his grip on Eddie’s arm a little tighter than it needed to be, and Eddie’s heart ached.

“Yeah, sure. Course I will.”

Richie gave him a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, his hand trailing down Eddie’s arm and falling to his side.

“Thanks.”

Eddie frowned. He reached up, needlessly readjusting Richie’s glasses.

“You don’t need to thank me. I told you that you can come over whenever you need me, regardless of what my mom says. I meant it, Richie.”

Richie laughed a little.

“Nah. If you really meant it I’d be moving in with you, Eds.”

At a loss for anything else to do or say, Eddie hit Richie lightly in the arm.

“...don’t call me Eds.”

“You love it.”

“Shut up.”

Then Richie began his own walk home, Eddie watching him turn down the street before finally going into his own house. He was in love with Richie Tozier, and it was much more than a little bit.

Richie didn’t usually ask first, when he spent the night at Eddie’s. Usually he just knocked on the window, gripping onto the trellis for dear life until Eddie relented and let him in. Richie didn’t ever say why he was there, but over the years Eddie had been able to guess. Hunger, or nightmares, or a fight with his father on one of the rare nights of the month that the man was home. But this time felt different, and it made Eddie nervous, and before he knew it he’d cleaned the entirety of his already-orderly room. Richie would make fun of him for that.

It was late when Richie finally showed up, opening the window without Eddie’s help, rolling onto his bed and knocking three books off his desk with his foot and laughing at the loud noise they made against the floor. Eddie shushed him violently and whacked him with a pillow, but he was giggling too.

“Hey, Spaghetti Man.”

Eddie took him in for a minute, then his mouth fell open.

“You didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” Richie was trying to give him an innocent expression but was failing marvelously, the ghost of a smile playing around his lips.

“You did not walk all the way to my house in your underwear!”

“That’s what it looks like to me!” Richie, who was lying on his bed in nothing but his boxer shorts and a huge bag of a t-shirt, lifted his legs up into the air, white and lanky and completely bare. Eddie slapped them back down. “What? It’s hot out there! Besides, I’ve gotta be ready at the drop of a hat for my lover Sonia Kaspbr--”

“Put on pants or you can’t stay.” Eddie interrupted flatly, and after laughing some more, Richie did as he was told. He put on a pair of Eddie’s shorts, and once he had them on Eddie didn’t really know why he’d been so insistent; Richie’s legs were so long that the pants didn’t cover much more than the underwear had, but at least it helped Eddie feel a little less flustered. Richie made a big show of taking off his glasses and getting comfy under Eddie’s covers before turning on his side, facing the window, and Eddie slid in beside him. Their sleepovers weren’t about hanging out, playing games or talking for hours. They were about not being alone.

Still though, Eddie had expected a little more than this. Finally, he decided to ask about it.

“Hey, Richie?”

“Yeah?” Richie turned, seemingly surprised to see Eddie already facing him.

“Could I ask you something?”

“What, how I came to be so devilishly handsome? Well, it was a fateful day in 1976, and--”

“No, no. Shut up.”

Richie seemed to realize that he was trying to be serious, falling silent immediately.

“I just wanted to know…” Eddie didn’t really know how to phrase his question. He went as simple as possible. “Are you okay?”

Richie didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t really want to, either; the idea behind coming over to Eddie’s for the night was to run away from all of the thoughts that had been consuming his mind during silences, not confronting and actually talking about them. Richie didn’t talk things through. He was on a mission to repress until he died.

“What do you mean?” He wanted to know how little he could get away with as an answer. Eddie thought for a moment, biting down lightly on his bottom lip.

“Just… You’ve been acting different. Ever since Georgie disappeared, something has been off, and today...”

Richie didn’t know why he thought he’d be able to hide anything from someone as empathetic as Eddie Kaspbrak. Bill was relatively dense when it came to other people’s feelings, and Stan only offered help if he thought a person really needed it. But that wasn’t Eddie.

“It’s just…” Richie let out a breath. He had to actually do this. “When I was little, like six or something, my parents bought me a cat.”

It was obvious by Eddie’s expression that this wasn’t what he’d expected to hear, and Richie almost wanted to laugh. He’d never told anyone about this before.

“I’d thrown a tantrum, because neither of them had been home on my birthday. They’d both forgotten, and I knew they had, and they tried to lie that they hadn’t, but I wasn’t hearing it. So they went and bought me a cat. An attempt to fix it, I guess. I don’t know. They didn’t buy anything the cat needed though, so I couldn’t take care of him. After two weeks, he ran away.”

Eddie frowned, moving as though to touch him before seemingly thinking better of it.

“But… He’s never really felt gone.” Richie said, hoping that would cheer Eddie up a little. “It wasn’t like I saw him die. He just… Went somewhere else. It’s a weird feeling, but I was reminded of it when people started disappearing around here. It’s how I think my parents would feel, if I actually decided to run away. Just… Somewhere else. They just went somewhere else.”

“But now Betty Ripsom is dead.” Eddie said quietly, and Richie nodded.

“Betty Ripsom is dead, and I’m just… I’m scared.” He confessed. “I’m scared for Bill. I’m scared that I’ll disappear, that those missing posters will have my face on them. Betty Ripsom is dead, and Georgie could be dead, and I would be dead, and…” Richie had to stop. His throat hurt, and his eyes were burning. A panic was stirring in his chest, a feeling he’d been fighting to keep in since Stan had shown up outside his door in the rain.

“Richie.” Eddie reached out, touching the side of his face lightly. “You’re right here, and you’re not going anywhere. You won’t disappear, okay? I won’t let you.”

Eddie was looking into his eyes, his fingertips soft against Richie’s cheek, his expression steadfast and completely serious and in that moment Richie had the incredibly strong, inexplicable urge to lean forward and kiss him. He wanted to kiss the breath out of Eddie’s lungs, kiss him until the rest of the world fell away, and it startled him so much that at first, he didn’t notice Eddie moving closer to him.

He started backwards on instinct but Eddie didn’t let him get very far, reaching out with his arms and wrapping around him, pressing his face in the crook of Richie’s neck.

“Ed--”

“Shut up and let me hug you.”

Richie did.

 

 

To everyone’s relief, the next day, they properly made it to Mike’s house. It was a large, incredibly old farmhouse, but they didn’t stay inside of it long. After getting everyone something to drink after the long walk over, Mike led them back outside and into the barn. The sheep stared at them as they entered. Stan wasn't afraid of animals per se, but he liked smaller ones better--birds and bunnies, for instance--and felt a little uneasy around any creatures that were larger than a good sized dog. Mike seemed to notice, putting a hand on his back.

“It’s okay, they only bite if you give them a reason to.” He said, which wasn't exactly reassuring.

“Just like me.” Richie tacked on, snapping his teeth in Stan’s direction and winking. By that time, they'd gathered everyone else's attention.

“Is S-Stan afraid of t-t-the sheep?” Bill asked. He looked painfully sleep deprived again, but Stan was glad to hear amusement in his voice.

“No.” Stan snapped, maybe a little too waspishly, because everyone laughed. Mike directed them up a ladder into a loft, Stan climbing up first, eyebrows going up his forehead in surprise. Journals, old books, and loose papers were strewn around in the hay, more of it there than Stan had expected to see. It looked as though it had started to be organized, but given up on halfway through and turned into a bit of a mess instead. He stepped carefully, making his way to an open patch of straw and taking a seat.

Richie climbed up behind him, and as soon as he’d found a seat he took off his Hawaiian shirt, exposing his collarbones and bony shoulders, now just in a tank-top and shorts.

“It's not that hot up here.” Stan remarked, but before he could ask what Richie was doing, Eddie’s head popped up above the landing.

“My allergies--” He began, but Richie laid his shirt out and patted it.

“Already got you covered, Eds.”

Eddie gave him a surprisingly sheepish thank you, and soon they were all seated in a misshapen oval around Mike's stuff.

“It’s… It’s kind of a lot.” Mike said, rubbing the back of his neck a little as he noticed the surprised looks on everyone’s faces. “I haven’t really even looked through all of it, so I don’t know if some of it is useless or not, but I didn’t want to accidentally miss anything important.”

“W-w-we need to find him.” Bill said, swallowing hard. His face was set. “R-Robert Gray.”

“I had the idea last night of putting together a timeline.” Mike said. “It… It would be hard, and I don’t know how long it would take, but…”

“It’s a good idea.” Beverly encouraged with a nod. “Especially if we could map out everywhere he appeared, too. It would give us an idea of where he could be, or if he moves around.”

They spoke like they knew what they were talking about, and Stan couldn’t help but wonder if he was the only helpless one here. Then Eddie caught his eye, his own eyes a little wider than usual, and Stan felt a bit better.

“I… I-I don’t know.” Bill was frowning. “Wouldn’t that t-take too long?”

“Not if we’re all doing it together.” Ben said. He sounded upbeat, a little too much so when considering the task at hand. “I mean, we’re all good at school. Everyone here can read decently quickly, right?”

“I guess.” Richie pulled a book into his lap, looking less than enthusiastic. “I just didn’t mentally prepare to spend my summer pouring over murder files from the little library on the prairie.”

“Before I met you guys, I spent most of my summers in the library.” Ben said, Richie’s eyes going wide with horror.

“Oh no. Nerd alert.”

“Oh, like you’re any cooler.” Beverly cut in. “You’re one of those losers that would stay in the arcade for hours. Let me guess… Street Fighter?”

“Street Fighter!” Richie cried out mournfully, falling back onto a pile of hay behind him. Eddie frowned and began brushing him off as soon as he was upright again. “You any good at the game?”

“Could probably kick your ass.” She answered offhandedly, and Richie's jaw dropped.

“You know Molly Ringwald, if you weren't such a bitch I could marry you.”

Beverly flipped Richie off, but she was laughing.

“So, timeline?” Ben asked, a little louder than he needed to. He was staring at Richie, who didn't notice. When no one objected, he continued. “We’ll write down all of the sightings of him and everything, and if there was some kind of crime that went with it we should write that down too. Mike, do you have a map?”

Mike miraculously supplied one, and they got started. They were silent for the most part, reading quietly, Richie even keeping the fidgeting to a minimum. They would call out anything they came across that seemed important, and someone would write it down. Beverly was marking and labeling the map, Mike was taking down dates, and Stan himself was on death duty.

“Tally marks?” Eddie asked, looking at his paper. “Really?”

“What?” Stan asked back. “I thought I was supposed to be counting.”

“I guess, but--”

“Pennywise.”

Richie’s interruption had everyone falling silent.

“What?” Beverly asked him. Everyone looked up.

“Oh, it’s just…” He picked up and showed the page he was looking at, a piece from the newspaper a few days after the Kitchener Ironworks explosion. There was a happy picture on the top of the crowd before the accident, and the clown was standing in front of a wooden cart with words and a portrait painted on it. Richie pointed as he read.

“Pennywise the Dancing Clown.”

Stan felt unsettled, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. He looked away, only to be faced with Pennywise looking at him from the pages he was holding, and he put them down.

Eventually, the timeline was complete. Stan felt a little less safe in the town he had to sleep in with his paper showing twenty-three dead bodies, and the map looked discouragingly like a scatterplot, but it was done. They sat for a moment, looking over their new evidence.

“Twenty-four.” Ben said, pointing to Stan’s paper. “Betty Ripsom.”

“Oh. Right.”

Richie was making an incessant popping noise with his lips, looking over the map. Stan hit him in the arm.

“Shut up.”

“No, you shut up. I’m thinking.”

“Rare.”

“No, actually shut--oh!”

He pointed to a place on the map. Nothing was marked there, but Stan knew what it was: the road perpendicular to Bill’s where they’d found Georgie’s rainboot.

“...what?” Mike asked after a moment.

“S-sewers.” Bill said softly.

“Sewers.” Richie repeated with a nod. “Look, he has little groups of activity, and they’re all relatively close to a gutter, see?”

“But they’re still all over town.” Beverly said. “He has to have a home base somewhere.”

Nobody had anything good to say after that. Everyone was quiet for a few seconds, then a loud electronic beep was heard.

“Oh.” Eddie quickly pushed a button to silence his watch. Stan knew what that meant; it was time for Eddie's afternoon medication. He went to unzip his fanny pack before rethinking it, tapping Mike on the shoulder instead. “Could I have some water?”

“Of course.” Mike got up quickly, looking around at everyone. “Uh… Should we take a break? Who’s hungry?”

Everyone’s hand went up, and they began descending the ladder. Something fell from Beverly’s back pocket as she got up, she and Stan the last in the loft, and he picked it up to hand it back to her.

“Bev--” He began, looking over it as he spoke. It was a postcard, a confession of love written out strangely poetically on the back. It was from a secret admirer, addressed to Beverly, who blushed pink and snatched it from his hands.

“You dropped it.” Stan said quickly, holding his hands up to his chest, because Beverly looked like she just might start swinging. “I didn’t mean to read it, I’m sorry.”

Beverly deflated a little, seemingly relieved that Stan wasn’t going to tease her.

“I don’t know who sent it.” She confessed. “It showed up in my bag a couple of days ago.” She paused, looking at Stan in what he realized was a prompting manner.

“I don’t know either.” He told her quickly. “It wasn’t me.”

Beverly looked him over. “I didn’t think it was.”

“Oh.” Stan watched as Beverly refolded the postcard with care, replacing it in her pocket. “It might be a good idea to put it somewhere else, though. Or, not carry it around.”

“Why?”

“Well, you might lose it.” Stan pointed out. “And… You’re just lucky I’m not Richie.”

Beverly was silent, and Stan could tell by the vague horror on her face that she was imagining the teasing that would have gone with the trashmouth finding the postcard instead. She placed her hand absentmindedly over her back pocket.

“Let’s just agree not to talk about this, yeah?” Beverly asked, Stan laughing a little.

“Yeah.”

“Are you guys done making out up there?” Richie asked loudly, Stan feeling his face heat up slightly as Beverly stuck her middle finger up over the edge of the loft. Then she climbed down, Stan following after her, avoiding the side eye both Ben and Bill were giving him. They all reentered Mike’s house together. Mike got Eddie his water first, then set out to put together some lunch. Stan wanted to help him but didn’t quite know what to do, feeling quite useless, knowing by looking at his friends’ faces as they also sat around that they felt the same way too.

Before long, everyone had a warm bowl of soup in front of them.

“I, uh… I made it yesterday.” Mike said, slightly sheepish. “Sorry to give you all leftovers, but I figured it would be better than making you wait.”

“It looks great.” Beverly said reassuringly, and it was. Things like soups and stews were low on Stan’s list of favorite foods, but he--along with Beverly, Richie, and Ben--asked for seconds. Ben stared into his bowl for a couple of moments, but when Mike asked nervously if something was wrong, he just shook his head, rubbing at his eyes.

“I just haven’t had food like this in awhile.” He said. “It’s nothing.”

“Mike, and his tear-wrenching soup!” Richie exclaimed, raising his spoon valiantly. Mike laughed, looking embarrassed, nudging Richie with his elbow to get him to stop. 

Mike was fitting in with their group, fitting in so well that Stan barely even noticed it. It wasn’t that the group didn’t feel different, because it did, but it felt… Better, somehow. More balanced. Mike seemed realistic and level-headed, something the group had been missing for some time. They needed someone that could withstand Richie’s constant stream of bullshit without losing their minds, because as much as Stan wanted to say that person was him, he knew it wasn’t.

“Bill, you need to give your eyes a rest.” Eddie said. “If you strain them for too long you could go blind.”

Bill had a book propped up against his empty soup bowl, the thing looking rather old and boasting the cheery title “Derry’s Disasters”.

“But we n-need to f-f-find him.” Bill insisted. “We d-didn’t figure that out. We did all that, but we s-s-still didn’t…”

“But we know a lot more now.” Beverly insisted. “We know that he found somewhere to go fifteen years ago, because that’s when the break-ins stopped. He must live somewhere relatively deserted, and if you and Richie are right, and he has something to do with the sewers…”

“My neighbor’s house.” Richie said suddenly, and everyone stared at him.

“W-w-w-what?” Bill sounded incredulous. “Richie--”

“No, seriously! I’ve never seen anyone live there.” Richie sat forward in his chair, beginning to count his reasons on his fingers. “Abandoned house, it’s right across the street from the gutter…” He then ran out of steam, and nobody looked convinced.

“I’ll write it down anyway.” Mike finally said, taking the pen he’d been using from his pocket and pulling a napkin towards himself. “Any other ideas?”

“I think he might live in the woods, really.” Beverly said matter-of-factly. “If no one in town knows him, he can’t live in town, right? And the sewers open up to the woods too.”

Stan could tell by Bill’s face that he didn’t like that idea, but Mike wrote it down.

“What about that house on Neibolt street?” Eddie asked hesitantly.

“What about it?” Stan asked back. “It’s not really in a good spot.”

“But it is abandoned.” Eddie said. “And… It’s creepy.”

That seemed to be the main point in Eddie’s reasoning, Beverly nodding along to his words.

“I’ve never liked that place.” She confessed. “Whenever I walk by, I feel like it’s watching me.”

“B-b-but it’s not--” Bill began.

“If I were a murderous clown, that’s where I would hang out.” Richie agreed.

“If?” Ben asked. The joke caught everyone off guard, a grin growing on Richie’s face as he looked over at him.

“Please Benjamin, the only thing I kill are the ladies, with my dance moves.”

“Richie, everybody knows you can’t dance.” Stan deadpanned, Richie’s mouth falling open.

“Mike didn’t!” He exclaimed indignantly, gesturing in Mike’s direction, who was laughing again. Despite misgivings, ‘Neibolt house’ was also written down. They tossed a few other locations around, but none of them made the list, and the conversation eventually devolved into a few less terrifying subjects. Stan kept one eye on Bill, who wasn’t laughing or joining in, staring down at the list in the middle of the table.

“Could w-we still go down and l-look through the sewers?” He asked, finally speaking up. “We s-s-still haven’t g-gotten the chance to yet. I just w-want to look around.”

“Sure.” Beverly allotted instantly, but she was looking up at the clock on the wall with a small frown. “We could meet up there tomorrow; we need to get going if Eddie wants to make it home on time.”

She was right. They cleared their places and thanked Mike for his hospitality, Eddie leaving as quickly as he could to get back into town. Bill and Beverly both departed while Stan was in the bathroom, and when he walked back towards the open front door he heard a strangely serious-sounding Richie talking to Mike. Curious, and knowing Richie would go full goofball if Stan made his presence known, he stilled in the doorway to eavesdrop.

“Hey Michael--can I call you Michael? Is that what Mike is short for?” Richie was asking. Mike was silent for a moment.

“I mean… I guess.” He said. Stan peeked around the corner. Richie was looking at his feet, and Mike looked curious and slightly confused at being talked to.

“I feel like I can trust you. If that's weird let me know now, because I've got a question.”

“I…” Mike was still perplexed. “No, it’s fine. What’s your question?”

Richie’s face was full of hesitancy, a tiny bit of fear in his expression, and Stan suddenly felt guilty about eavesdropping. Moving now would make his presence known and he didn’t want that either, but before he could think of an alternative solution, Richie spoke.

“I… I think I’m in love with someone, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Mike was silent for a few moments. Richie couldn’t stand still while he waited for a response, rocking back and forth on his feet, stuffing his hands in his pockets before pulling them out again to run his fingers through his hair. Stan waited with baited breath, hoping that Richie would elaborate but knowing already that he wouldn’t.

“You should be sure about something that big.” Mike finally said. “And when you are, you should say something. No sense in keeping something like that to yourself, you know? People like knowing that they’re loved.”

Richie stuffed his hands back into his pockets, nodding a little.

“Thanks.” He said, swallowing and looking down at his feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Thanks a lot.”

“Sure.” Mike scratched the back of his head and then the moment was over, Richie sticking his head inside the house. Stan shrank back against the wall, but thankfully Richie didn’t look around, just yelling down the hallway.

“Stan! Get your scrawny white ass out here or I’ll leave without you!”

“How about you get your scrawny white ass out of my house?!” Came a responding yell from somewhere upstairs. Richie gave a bewildered laugh.

“God?” He asked back, as Mike clutched his chest in laughter.

“My… That’s my grandfather.” He answered when he could breathe again. Richie nodded a little, and Stan had to hide all over again as he stuck his head inside once more.

“Thanks for housing us, Mr. Hanlon!”

“Go home!”

Ears now ringing, Stan waited a minute or so, hiding until both Richie and Mike’s backs were turned before stepping outside as though he’d just walked up.

“No need to scream my head off.” He couldn’t help but say. “You’re going to give me a migraine.”

Richie winked, grinning. “I tend to have that effect on people.”

Stan just shook his head, thanking Mike again for having them over, and he and Richie made their way down the street. Usually Richie would strike up a conversation, saying something so incredulous that Stan wouldn’t be able to resist arguing with him on it, and they would laugh at each other before parting ways. But Richie was quiet, walking all the way to Stan’s house with him, completely passing the fork in the road that led to his own street. Finally, Stan couldn’t take it anymore. He wasn’t going to ask about Richie’s question--he didn’t want him to know he’d been eavesdropping--deciding to go with a question of his own.

“Hey, Richie… Are you okay?”

It took a beat for Richie to react, blinking as though he’d been pulled from a stupor. He looked Stan in the face for a few seconds before a huge smile grew on his lips, slinging an arm around him and hanging heavily on his shoulder.

“I’m fine! Why do people keep asking me that?”

It was an obvious lie, but Stan didn’t press him on it. Richie would talk to him if he wanted to. They reached Stan’s front door, then parted ways.

 

 

Beverly walked Bill home. She knew he didn't need her, and maybe it was a strange thing to do, but if he thought so he didn't say anything. It was a little selfish really, but she knew she would feel better about herself if she didn't let him be alone. Once they'd made it to Bill's driveway, he stopped.

“I h-h-hate it.” He said after a moment. “Can y-you just… Sit outside w-with me for a little bit?”

She nodded and they sat on the curb together. Bill was quiet, not complaining when Beverly took out and lit a cigarette. Then he was quiet for even longer, and Beverly decided to strike up conversation.

“Hate what?” She asked.

“B-being at home.” He pressed his lips together, looking angry. Not angry at her, or angry at his house, even; angry at the world. “After G-Georgie disappeared, being there j-j-j-just…”

“It sucks.” Beverly supplied. She knew it must be an understatement--she couldn’t imagine how Bill must feel--but he nodded anyways.

“M-my parents, they’ve started f-f-fighting all the time. We used to always eat d-d-dinner t-together, but we’ve stopped doing that too. I don’t like l-l-leaving my room, because Georgie’s stuff is still everyw-where; no one can clean it up. No one wants t-to touch it, or even talk about it. A-a-about him.”

Beverly reached out and rubbed his back, resting an easy arm around his shoulders, and he seemed to lean in to the contact without realizing it.

“But being in my room is almost w-worse, just lying in bed… I can’t sleep, I c-c-can’t eat, I… I’m sorry.” He looked over at her. The sun was setting, the orange light catching on the reddish tint of his auburn hair and making it glow. He was handsome, Beverly thought, his cheeks and nose round but his jawline sharp, a green tint to his grey eyes. Her gaze caught on his lower lip, where his injury seemed to have reopened before healing completely, now a red streak that stretched when he spoke.

“Sorry?” She asked.

“F-f-for this. Complaining.”

“I would worry more if you didn’t.” She assured him, sitting a closer and resting her head on his shoulder. Bill’s hand found her waist, holding her, and she rubbed his back a little. “I can’t believe how difficult this must be for you. I’m so sorry.”

He swallowed hard, blinking a couple of times and angling his gaze at the asphalt beneath their feet.

“He h-has this walkie-t-t-talkie.” He said after a moment. “G-G-Georgie, I mean. And he was w-wearing it, that day. A-a-and I know it’s s-stupid, b-b-but…” He stopped, closing his eyes and taking a breath before continuing. “I t-try calling out to him, s-s-s-sometimes. J-just to see if h-he’ll answer. He can’t be d-dead.”

His voice cracked on the last word, his head hanging, and Beverly rubbed his back again, wanting to comfort him. She didn’t have any words that could help this though, she knew that much. She had no assurances; no promises to make. They could only hope.

Bill’s head rested on her own as the sun went down, and it wasn’t until the darkness had fully gathered around them that Beverly realized she was supposed to already be home. A jolt of fear ran through her, and she removed her hand from around his back. He let go in turn, already looking apologetic, but she didn’t let him say anything.

“Goodnight Bill. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Try to get some sleep. For me.”

“Okay.” He finally said, and after smiling and exchanging goodbyes, Beverly made her way home. Dread churned in her gut, and she already knew what was awaiting her. She wouldn’t be lucky again. Her father would be awake, and he would be angry.

He was. She didn’t look at him as she came in, not even when he yelled her name, running past him. He grabbed her by the wrist but she managed to shake him off, making it into the bathroom and closing the door behind her. She locked it with trembling hands, taking the postcard from her pocket, looking down at it. She wanted help. She needed help, but she had nothing of the sort. All she could do was hide the postcard and hope for the best; Beverly didn’t know what Alvin Marsh would do if he found out about her secret admirer, but it was the last thing she wanted.

She stuffed it in the tampon box, a sob escaping her lips as her father pounded on the bathroom door.

“Bevvy! You unlock this door!” He bellowed.

“In… In a minute!” She called back, trying to keep her voice level. It had been a while since she’d heard him this enraged. The bathroom was supposed to be her safe space, but safe was the last thing she felt.

She heard the lock click in the doorknob, and then the door was opened, her father standing in the doorway.

“Bevvy?” He stepped forward, the concern on his face making her skin crawl. He reached out, taking her face in one hand. “Why are you crying? What happened to you? You’re home so late.”

Beverly considered running for the window, but she knew she couldn’t make it.

“I lost track of time, that’s all.”

“Where were you? Who were you with?” His hands moved to her shoulders, trailing down the sides of her body. She was fully crying now, forcing a lie past the lump in her throat.

“Just walking around town with some friends. We went and got ice cream.”

His grip on her hips tightened until it hurt.

“Why would you lie to me?” He asked, his words barely a whisper, leaning in until his lips touched her ear, his liquor-streaked breath ghosting over her face. “You don’t smell like ice cream. You smell like dirty, rotten cigarettes.”

“Daddy--”

“You worry me, Bevvy.” One of his hands was on the waistband of her pants, his fingers trying to get under her clothes. She tried to squirm away, but he held her fast with his other hand. “You worry me a lot.”

It was over in a matter of minutes. It could have been faster, but something new had risen in her and urged her to fight. She'd writhed, clawed and cried, but all it got her was a quick slap in the face and bruises the shape of handprints on her thighs.

“Why did you do that to your hair?”

She was lying on the bathroom floor, tears leaking thinly from behind her closed eyelids. She didn’t respond to the question, but her father wasn't looking for an answer.

“It makes you look like a boy.”

Then he closed the door behind himself and was gone. Beverly curled into a ball, letting herself lay there, letting herself cry. Just like all the other times, she considered calling the police. She considered running away. But just like all the other times, she knew she wouldn't. Instead, her eyes caught on the tampon box under the sink. The top wasn't fully closed, a couple inches of the postcard sticking out, and Beverly thought that maybe her luck hadn't run out just yet.

She pulled out the postcard to look at it again, somehow feeling better and worse all at once. But it gave her the energy to get up off the floor, and when she felt like she could she hurried to her bedroom. She took the postcard with her and stuffed it quickly under her pillow and got into bed, feeling tears stinging her eyes again as her fingers curled around one of the corners.

“My heart burns there too.” She whispered to herself, lying still and trying not to feel the aches in her body, willing sleep to take her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pulled the names of the police officers in this chapter from the book, but I don't actually know who they were/what roles they had, so sorry about the inconsistencies there. This chapter has a bit more violence than those previous, but it's gonna amp up a bit from here on out.

Bill and Mike were already there by the time Ben arrived at the sewers. They weren't looking around like Ben expected but talking to each other instead, and there was a smile on Bill's face. Ben had only seen Bill smile a handful of times, but the expression looked good on him.

“Oh, no.” Mike was saying. He was laughing a little. “I cannot let you say that The Cure are cooler than Michael Jackson. I just can’t. He’s the King of Pop!”

“I d-didn’t say they were cooler. I s-s-said they were better.” Bill grinned as Mike shook his head, seemingly ashamed on Bill’s behalf. He spotted Ben approaching, calling out to him.

“Hey! The Cure or Michael Jackson?”

Ben thought for a moment.

“Is Prince not on the table?” He asked back, and Mike gave his answer consideration before declaring that an argument for a different day. He couldn’t stay ashamed of Bill for very long though, Richie and Eddie coming up quickly, seemingly right behind Ben. They were bickering about something like always, but Richie didn’t seem to be putting up as much of a fight as usual, just looking down at Eddie with a grin as the shorter one spoke fast and fervidly.

“No Richie, you cannot just ‘live in my closet’. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It would save me a lot of trips up and down that trellis, Eds. Those are more dangerous than you know. One day, I’ll fall and break my neck and then you’ll regret it. You’ll hold me in your lap and cry over my dead body.”

“Don’t call me Eds! I can’t believe we’re arguing about this. My mother would find you. And I keep stuff in there! Like… Clothes.”

“So you could keep me in there too! C’mon, it’s not like I haven’t seen your underwear before.” Richie’s expression was less suggestive and more affectionately dopey, but Eddie still shoved his shoulder so hard that he stumbled away a few paces. Eddie came to a huffy stop in front of the rest of them.

“Hi.” He said, the heat still in his voice. When Richie tried to walk up, he shoved him again without even looking. This time Richie fell into the grass, laughing. “Can someone tell Richie that he can’t move in with me?”

Nobody spoke. Bill simply looked amused, helping Richie to his feet. Mike’s eyebrows were raised, and Ben was hesitant to say anything. He couldn’t tell what Richie and Eddie had going on, but quite frankly, he was too afraid to ask. Eddie sighed, mumbling something about “have to do everything myself”.

Stan walked up next. He looked like he hadn’t slept much, but he greeted the group with a little smile anyways. When Beverly approached, she looked sort of the same way. Ben couldn’t help the smile on his face when he saw her though, his heart soaring when she met his eyes and smiled back.

“‘Sup Bevvy?” Richie greeted, an easy smile on his face as he waved. Her expression changed so quickly that Ben barely had time to register it, and before any of them realized what was happening she wound her arm back and slapped Richie across the face, his glasses flying off into the grass. He stumbled away from her, ducking his head, Eddie holding his arm to steady him. All of them looked at her, Stan taking a step back. Ben had seen her lobbing rocks during their fight against Bowers, and could tell that she hadn’t put her full force behind the blow--and it would have hurt infinitely more if she’d decided to punch him instead.

“Call me that again and I swear to god I will strangle you.” She said. Ben saw her swallow after she’d gotten the threat out, and she didn’t look angry. She looked… Scared. Her gaze flicked to the rest of the Losers. “That goes for the rest of you too, understand?”

Their bobble-headed nods seemed to make her realize the spectacle she was causing, casting her gaze to her feet.

“Good.” She finished. Then she stooped down, handing Richie back his glasses. “Sorry.”

With Richie trying to recalibrate his head on his shoulders, there wasn’t anyone to break the silence. Finally, Bill spoke up.

“N-no, you h-h-hit Richie in the face. You’re our hero.” He said. The remark got a few chuckles, Beverly offering him a small smile.

“We get it, we get it, no Bevvy. No need to try and kill me.” Richie said, stumbling back behind Ben and raising his hands placatingly to his chest when his brain had caught up with his mouth, seeing the twist in Beverly’s expression. Stan rolled his eyes and punched Richie on the shoulder. “Fuck! Sorry, sorry. Jesus.”

“So… The sewers?” Ben offered, and they made their way to the pipes.

It wasn’t the most fun way to spend the morning. It was dark and stuffy and didn’t smell the best, with a reluctant Stan and protesting Eddie trailing behind the group every step of the way. They found a couple of things as they stumbled around in the water (grey water, as Eddie was insisting, telling Stan the different ways they would all be contracting staph infections) most of it garbage that Richie flung around with a large stick he'd picked up. Bill found a small shoe with Tania McGowan's name written on the tongue, all of them solemn for a silent moment.

It was weird when Beverly found Patrick Hockstetter’s lighter. They all recognized it, even before Mike pointed out the initials that had been scratched into the bottom. Ben knew he should feel badly, that he should be sorry that Patrick was most likely dead, but all he could identify was a vague sympathy. He wasn't happy about it, he didn't wish death upon anyone, but…

“I don't know what to do with this.” Beverly confessed. She held her hand out palm up, offering the lighter to the group, asking someone else to decide its fate. Richie took it from her, examining it with a furrowed brow before pocketing it.

They reemerged, blinking in the sun, and it took Ben a couple of minutes to realize that he knew where they were. He pointed down the street.

“Hey, that's my house.” He said.

“No kidding!” Richie said with a laugh. He'd gone more or less quiet while climbing through the tunnels, but the sunlight seemed to revive him a little. He began crossing the street, as though forgetting that their mission for the day was to explore the tunnels, not pay Ben’s place a visit.

“H-hey, Richie--” Bill began, but then Mike let out a loud curse, and Eddie’s hands were on Ben’s back, pushing him to get him moving.

“What--?” Ben began, his question drowned out by the loud and menacing revving of an engine. He could guess what car that was--just their luck, of course this would happen--chancing a glance over his shoulder.

Bowers was all the way down the street, Vic and Huggins with him in his car. A look at his expression almost made Ben miss the days that Bowers spit in his face with a smile; this new ‘angry and murderous’ thing made him so much more terrifying. He was a good ways away, but his car was coming at them fast, and Ben scrambled to get his legs moving.

“Which house is yours?” Richie shouted, already in front of them. Ben gave him the house number, realizing as he got closer that his mother’s car was in the driveway. His mom was home. That didn’t seem to deter Richie though, because as soon as he reached the right house he dove inside, Stan fast on his heels.

Bowers’s car was almost on them. Ben could hear the engine roaring in his ears as he ran up onto the sidewalk, up onto his front lawn, hoping that he was safe now that he was out of the road. That wasn’t the case. He heard the bump behind him as the car went up over the curb, and simply kept running for his front door.

“Henry, _fuck_ \--” Huggins’s voice, and suddenly the car swerved, kicking up grass and dirt and skidding away from its collision course for Ben’s front porch. He looked back and saw the two bullies grappling for the wheel, Huggins steering the car back onto the street and Henry shouting curses at him.

“I almost had the fat fucker--”

And then Ben was inside, slamming and locking the door behind him. He half expected the gang to try coming in his house, the mad glint developing in Bowers’s eyes making him feel that nearly anything was possible, but they didn’t. Maybe the ‘veteran’ bumper sticker on the back of his mother’s car was dissuading them; if that were the case, Ben would be willing to wear it across his forehead.

His friends were all standing very awkwardly in his kitchen. It took him a few moments to catch his breath, then he gestured around vaguely with his hands.

“Uh… This is my house.”

It was Beverly that began laughing first, but soon they were a hopelessly giggling mess, Ben’s legs shaking slightly as the adrenaline faded from his limbs. He offered them drinks and snacks, trying to be a good host, and everyone had a cup of water in their hands by the time his mother came down the stairs.

“Well hello.” She sounded happy but hesitant, giving Ben a quick look. How she hadn’t known about other people in the house until now, Ben had no idea. They had been rather loud upon entering. “Benjamin, what’s all this?”

“These are my friends.” Ben supplied. He named them all in turn, each giving her a small wave.

“Oh, friends!” She exclaimed the word as though until now, she’d forgotten how to pronounce it. Ben wished she’d said it any other way than that.

“I know, we might just be the first ones.” Richie said, walking over and slinging an arm across Ben’s shoulders. “Your Benny’s a special boy.”

Mrs. Hanscom beamed at him. “I like this one.” She said, gesturing to Richie. Then Richie winked, and Ben shoved him.

“Okay, I’m going grocery shopping so I’ll be out for a little while.” She said, moving towards the door. She paused for a second at Beverly, who looked nervously back, but Mrs. Hanscom only complimented her on her dress before continuing on her way out. When she opened the door, she stopped.

“Oh, what happened here?”

Ben looked out. There were very clear tire tracks ripping through the grass.

“Looks like some kind of accident.” He said innocently. He glanced down, seeing Bowers’s car parked a few houses away, and pulled his head back inside. “Don’t know.”

“I do hope the driver is alright.” She remarked absently, and Ben bit the inside of his cheek. She turned and ruffled his hair affectionately. “If you go out again, just make sure to be home in time for dinner.”

“I will.”

She was out the door, Ben turning to the group.

“Bowers is just waiting down the street.” He said. “We probably shouldn’t go out there until he leaves.”

“Party at Ben’s!” Richie said happily.

“Don’t wink at my mom.” Ben responded. “It’s weird.”

Eddie hit Richie in the arm. “I told you it’s weird.”

Richie just shrugged in a hopeless sort of way.

“What can I say? Moms love me.”

Bill looked incredibly frustrated, and Ben felt bad for him.

“W-w-what are we s-supposed to do now?” He asked. Aside from a shrug from Stan, nobody else had an answer, and they sat themselves around Ben’s kitchen table, someone getting up every once and awhile and peeking through the windows to check on the status of the Bowers threat. Mike brought back the Cure vs. Michael Jackson debate, and after an hour and a round of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, they were all still stuck at Ben’s.

“Sorry about this.” Ben felt he had to say, but his apology was quickly waved off.

“Not your fault that Bowers is a dick.” Eddie said. “Plus, you’re keeping us out of the hepatitis breeding ground. We should be thanking you.”

“But--” Bill began, Ben remembering something so suddenly that he cut him off.

“That book!”

“What book?” Mike asked. Ben apologized to Bill, but turned to him as well, knowing that at least him, Stan, and Beverly would know what he was talking about.

“That book we looked at in the library, with the sewer system mapped out. Remember? I went back and checked it out. There are a few maps in it, too. We could see what places--”

“What p-places are ab-bandoned.” Bill finished. “We m-m-might be able to f-find out where he lives.”

He nodded and they all rose from their seats, Ben not realizing at first that everyone walking out of the kitchen meant everyone going into his room. He rushed ahead of them, trying desperately to clean up as much as he could before they got there, picking things up as he scurried around. It only half worked, his bed unmade and papers strewn all over the place, but at least all his dirty clothes were now shoved in his closet.

They walked in one by one, Ben standing back and watching their expressions, feeling strangely nervous. Everyone's eyes went first to the various things he had pinned up. Ben didn’t like having bare bedroom walls, and as a result he'd hung up every noteworthy thing he could. Flyers from events he’d attended and movie tickets were in the majority, with a few family photos and achievements from summer camps. Most of it was stuff he and his dad had done together and almost none of it was from Derry, but he liked having it all up there nonetheless.

Ben crossed to his desk, picking the book up. It was out of his hands as soon as he turned back to the group, Bill opening it, Stan and Mike on either side of him to get a good look as Eddie and Richie continued to flit around his room. Ben hovered behind them awkwardly, unsure of what it was they were doing. Beverly let out a little cough, and when Ben looked over the bottom dropped out of his stomach. She had her hand on the knob of his bedroom door, the door almost completely closed, all five members of New Kids On The Block staring back at him.

Ben’s eyes went wide, glancing momentarily to the unaware Eddie and Richie and shaking his head desperately. He’d been incredibly into the boy band a couple of years ago, and while they’d faded from his enthusiasm, he still knew most of their songs by heart. He’d put the poster up when he’d moved to Derry, and found he still had a soft spot for the group every time he tried to take it down. Bev looked completely delighted by her discovery, and as happy as Ben was to see her smile, he didn’t know what the rest of the Losers would do with that information and didn’t want to find out.

Thankfully, after a few more moments of teasing, Beverly reopened the door so that the poster was hidden safely against the wall, and Ben breathed a sigh of relief.

“The wellhouse.” Mike remarked. He sounded surprised, pointing to the book in Bill’s hands. “All of the sewer lines end up running to the old wellhouse. That thing isn’t there anymore, though; it was torn down or something.”

“W-what’s there now?” Bill asked, and Mike took the book from him, flipping through a few different pages of maps. Nobody else could see what it was they were looking at, but everyone watched them, a feeling of foreboding settling in Ben's stomach as Mike's eyes fixed on a place on the page. He swallowed, pointing.

“Well?” Beverly asked, visibly nervous. “What is it?”

“The Neibolt house.” Stan answered. His voice was slow, and he sounded slightly hoarse.

“Hey!” Richie gave Eddie a nudge, breaking the ominous silence that had settled around them. “You were right, Eds.”

Eddie didn’t look at all pleased at being right. Ben watched the courage muster up on Bill's face, taking a step towards the door.

“Woah, where are you going?” Mike asked, gripping Bill's shoulder. Bill turned back to them, his eyes bright, his mouth a thin line.

“L-l-let’s go. We know where h-he is, so let's go.”

“Go?” Stan echoed, his voice cracking slightly. “Go to the Neibolt house? Are you insane?”

Bill didn't wait to debate him, turning back to the exit, but Stan jumped forwards and grabbed his arm.

“Bill--”

“I'm going!” Bill shook him off, but Stan just grabbed him again. “I'm g-going. Every second we w-w-waste here is j-just--”

“Georgie. I get it.” Stan said empathetically. “But Bill, you have to think about this! It's crazy! If we really have a psycho clown on our hands then we are so damn far over our heads that it's unreal. We have to take this to the police. It's their job. We're just kids.”

“B-b-but--”

“You--we--are the only people doing something. I know that. But if this gets you killed, you'll be no use to Georgie at all. Please go to the police station.”

They held each other's gaze, Ben afraid even to breathe. Then, finally, Bill's eyes dropped to his feet.

“Fine.”

Stan visibly relaxed but Bill wasn't finished, looking up again.

“But i-if they d-d-don't do anything useful, w-we’re going in ourselves.”

Stan's fingers tightened on Bill's shirtsleeve.

“Fine.” He said. “Fine.”

Then he let him go, the group following Bill out of Ben's bedroom. Eddie ran forward and looked out the window.

“Coast is clear.” He reported. “Bowers left.”

Nodding dutifully, Bill was out the door without another word. The others left soon after that, first Eddie, then Mike and Stan. Richie asked to use his bathroom, Ben pointing him in the right direction, and after a strangely disconcerting promise to not do anything weird to the soap, Richie retreated into the house.  

That left him with Beverly, and he smiled at her. Just being next to her was nice, despite the fact that she seemed a little different than usual today. Maybe she hadn't slept well; she had bags under her eyes that he'd noticed as soon as she'd greeted them, smiling a little less, and her walk was slightly stiff. All the same, his stomach did a little somersault when she smiled back. He wanted to tell her she smelled good, but thought that might be a bit much.

She misread his silence, laughing a little and looking out over the torn-up lawn.

“Don't worry. I won't tell anyone about your crush.”

“W-what?” Ben choked out. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“New Kids On The Block?” She said. “You know, that you're their biggest fan.”

“Oh.” He laughed a little. “Yeah. I mean, it was a couple years ago, I…”

“Is it because you were the new kid?” She asked. “I remember when you first came to class. You and I were in Social Studies together.”

“You remember that?” He couldn't hide how stunned he was.

“Yeah. You wrote the best paper in the class about the Civil War, so the teacher made you stand up and read the entire thing in front of everyone. Your face was bright red.”

“Of course that's what you remember.” Ben remarked, and Beverly laughed. She took a step out onto his front lawn.

“I'm going to go ahead.” She said. “I want to meet up with Bill, actually. He shouldn't do this alone. See you later.” She winked, and Ben had a near death experience right there in his doorway. “Hang tough.”

Ben recognized her parting words as a New Kids song reference, but by the time he'd thought of a response she was already halfway down the street. He said it anyway, calling after her.

“Please don't go girl!”

She turned at the sound of his voice, confused for just a moment before understanding what he said. When she realized it was another song title she threw her head back in a loud laugh, her shoulders relaxing, releasing a tension in them that Ben hadn't noticed until it was gone. It felt good to make her laugh like that.

“So. Bev.”

Ben spun around so fast he nearly fell down. It was Richie. Ben had completely forgotten he was there. Richie was staring at the back of Beverly's head as though she'd just told him a rather complicated math problem, though Ben knew for a fact that Richie was extremely good at math.

“Yeah?” He asked after a moment. “What?”

“She's great, don't get me wrong.” Richie said. “I mean, she's one of us now, so we'd all die for her. It's just… Why do you love her so much?”

“Love?” Ben squeaked. “I… It's…”

“Benny.” Richie raised his eyebrows. “Come on man.”

“Please don't try to get that nickname to catch on.”

“Fine, Benji.”

Benji wasn't much better, but Ben took it. He shrugged.

“I like being around her. She makes me nervous, but in a good way, and happy too. I want to make her laugh. I want to protect her, even though she really doesn't need it. I don't know.” It was hard to put his feelings into words. “She's fearless, and she's funny, and I can't wait to see her every day. Plus, she's… You know…”

“Cute.” Richie finished. Ben nodded but Richie didn't notice, looking preoccupied with his own thoughts. “Really, really cute.”

“Yeah.” Ben raised his eyebrows, confused by Richie's change in attitude, but he didn't end up needing to ask about it. Richie scuffed the bottom of his right shoe against the floor.

“I feel that way about someone too.” Then he caught the look in Ben's eye. “It's not Beverly, don't get your dick in a twist.”

“Oh.” When Richie didn't elaborate, Ben figured it wasn't his business. “Well, good luck.”

“You too, Benito.” Richie clapped him hard on the back, trying to break the mood with his terrible British accent as he jumped down all of Ben’s front steps at once. “I'm rooting for you, old sport!”

“Thanks.” Ben gave him a smile, and after a clumsy salute, Richie was gone.

 

 

“The Neibolt house?” The police officer gave him a disbelieving look. His dark hair was cropped short and his face was incredibly pockmarked from old acne scars that never properly healed. He seemed pretty sure that Bill and Beverly were playing some sort of joke on him. “What on God’s green Earth are you talking about, Denbrough?”

Bill swallowed, glancing at Beverly, who gave him an encouraging nod. She’d run after him, finally catching up in town, and Bill was glad now for her company. He hadn’t considered what to do if the police didn’t believe him. He hadn’t even thought that would be a possibility.

Taking a deep breath, he explained again about the sewers, and the clown Mike had seen. He left out the name Robert Gray, remembering what Mike had said about his father getting laughed out of the precinct. To his credit, the officer genuinely seemed to be listening. He turned to his partner when Bill had finished for the second time, a man with light brown hair and an exceptionally bushy mustache under his long nose.

“Are you hearing this?”

“Sounds like bullshit to me, but why not?” The cop with the mustache asked back. “You told me ten minutes ago that you were bored. We could go.”

“P-please.” Bill said. He was beginning to feel angry, trying to keep it out of his voice. His brother was missing, and the police were _bored_. He was frustrated with Stan, too; if not for him, Bill would be in the house by now. He might have even found Georgie already. “I-i-i-it w-won’t take long, j-j-j-just--”

“Alright, alright. Don’t hurt yourself.” Pockmark got to his feet, grabbing his hat and putting it on. “You two wanna ride in a cop car?”  

Bill hadn’t expected to be invited along. He’d expected to be taken seriously, for this to be seen as the significant, dangerous lead that it was. All the same though, he did want to go, and a few minutes later the two of them found themselves in the back of the police vehicle, Mustache behind the wheel and Pockmark sitting shotgun. Nerves twisted themselves in his stomach, a negative type of anticipation, and a strange part of Bill wanted to cry. It must have shown on his face because Beverly reached over, rubbing his arm. He tried to smile in gratitude, but he felt his lips stretch weirdly and he quickly gave up.

“Hey, where's the chief?” Pockmark asked. “He didn’t ever come in.”

Mustache glanced over at him.

“Chief Bowers? Day off.” He answered. “He called in earlier though; can't find his damn gun. Thinks his kid stole it.”

Pockmark let out a breath. “Wouldn't surprise me. He hits that boy, you know.”

“Yeah?” Mustache’s mustache furrowed as he frowned, turning onto Neibolt street. “Sounds like he doesn't hit him hard enough.”

Then the police car was put into park, and they had arrived. The Neibolt house loomed over them, dark and desecrated, a sore thumb in an otherwise picturesque neighborhood. The lawn was brown and dead, a bare and mangled tree jutting from the earth like a gnarled hand. Vines had grown all around the first story of the house, creeping their way in between the cracks of the boarded up windows, but they too looked brown and wasted. The rusted fence boasted two “NO TRESPASSING” signs, but they were disregarded.

“It’s not trespassing if nobody lives here.” Mustache reasoned. “The owners of the house died, the kids didn’t want it, and they left it here to rot.”

It wasn’t until they got to the front door that Pockmark stopped them both.

“Just in case, you two stay out here.” He said. “There’s a working radio in the front if you need it. We should only be a moment, really. But we’ll take a look around.”

Bill bit back a retort. He wanted to go inside, especially since he’d already come all the way here. This had to be it, and if it was, that meant Georgie was in there. Georgie needed him. He couldn’t just stand here and do nothing. But he couldn’t defy a police officer to his face, especially not with Beverly holding tight to his arm. At her insistence they backed away from the porch, standing in the middle of the walkway to the house.

“God, I hate this place.” She said, and in spite of himself and his frustration Bill felt a shiver pass through him as he looked through the gaping front door. But still, his weight shifted forward, all the more ready to pull away from Beverly. She felt it, gripping him tighter.

“Bill, don’t.” She was looking at him, examining his face.

“What?”

“You want to play the hero.” She said. “You want to help, and I get it, but Stan’s right. If Pennywise is here, we need to let the cops take care of it.”

“I k-know.” Stan was right. Stan was usually right, but this wasn’t really a question of right or wrong; it was all about how much feeling useless he could bear.

It only took a few minutes before he was ready to disregard all of the warnings and go inside anyway, pulling his arm from Beverly’s grasp.

“Bill--” She started, and he turned to apologize, flinching horribly when something that felt like an explosion went off inside the house. Beverly cursed in surprise and confusion, Bill stepping instinctively closer to her. A metal rod flew from the open front door, landing only inches from their feet and cracking the pavement ahead of them as dust billowed from the windows like smoke. There were few moments of tense silence before the policemen emerged, Pockmark dragging Mustache down the steps. He looked like he’d survived a nuclear blast, his hair blown every which way, blood and dirt streaked across his face.

Mustache looked like he’d been through the nuclear blast too, but that he hadn’t been so lucky. It wasn’t until Beverly muffled a scream behind her hands that Bill noticed that the darkness on the clothes of the officers was actually blood, so much of it that it scared him, his eyes traveling up to see that Mustache had a rusted metal rod protruding through his neck. The ground seemed to sway under Bill’s feet, Pockmark’s frantic voice sounding like it was coming from miles away.

“Radio! Radio for help!”

Mustache--or Bruce Andeen, as Bill later learned--was dead before any help arrived. Bill tried to press the other officer for answers--Charles Avarino--but he didn’t talk much at all until they were back at the police station. Traps, he’d said. The place was full of them. Tripwires, bear traps, holes in the floor. Explosives. Something had launched steel rods through the living room, though in the moment he hadn’t been able to discern where they’d come from or how they’d been sprung. But despite all this, he said the house looked as though nothing had been in it for years. The dust was undisturbed. They didn’t see a single person.

“The place was empty.” He kept insisting. “We didn’t hear anyone. We didn’t see a soul. It was empty.”

Bill and Beverly were also questioned, and again Bill explained their reasoning for going to the Neibolt house, as well as what had happened, but they were marked off as unimportant. The Neibolt house was declared dangerous, the fence marked off with caution tape, the “NO TRESPASSING” signs now shiny and new and under police jurisdiction, and Bill and Beverly were sent home.

Beverly took him by the hand and began to walk. Bill felt numb, shellshocked; he didn’t even realize where they were going until Beverly came to a stop at his front door. When he didn’t move to go inside of his house she tugged him forward, stepping into the kitchen.

“You need to get some rest.” Her voice was quiet, but not in an attempt to be comforting. She was shaken. “Or eat something. We haven’t eaten since we were at Ben’s.”

Bill disregarded her suggestions, one thing on his mind as he left his kitchen. Her hand was still in his so he took her with him, walking together to Georgie’s bedroom. The door to the room was closed, and as soon as he saw it he choked on a gasp.

A dirty yellow raincoat was nailed to the wood of the door, arms of it splayed out and hood up as though it were being worn. It was Georgie’s and Bill knew it, running forward with a choked sob, pulling the coat down from the door and holding it close. Beverly was there with her hand on his shoulder but he barely noticed, his face a mess of tears as he pressed it into the raincoat. His world felt as though it were spinning and crumbling all at once and he couldn’t breathe, pain ripping itself from his throat in cries.

“Bill, Bill…” Beverly pulled him close to her, her hands threading through his hair, rubbing his back, trying to comfort him. “Bill, I’m so sorry…”

“Georgie…” The name was an explanation that Beverly didn’t need, but Bill felt as though it grounded him slightly, the coat feeling heavier and heavier in his hands until he let it fall to the floor. Bev took his hands in hers and it pulled him back to the present even more.

“Look at me. Look at me.” She reached up to wipe the wetness from his cheeks. “Breathe.”

It was difficult, but he did, the storm in his chest slowly subsiding. The tears came anew in the quiet but Beverly sat with him, and it was her again that kept him there, not allowing him to be swept away by his emotions, and he reigned himself in enough to speak.

“I-I-I…” Beverly met his eyes, and Bill realized he had no idea what it was he wanted to say. “Beverly…”

When he trailed off the second time she looked at him curiously for a moment, then leaned forwards and kissed him, giving their entwined fingers a squeeze.

Bill liked Beverly. She was fiercely strong and loyal, and anyone could tell how pretty she was. He had thought about kissing her once or twice. But this, while comforting… Something about it wasn't the way it should be.

Bill had kissed people before, and Beverly wasn't a bad kisser. It didn't feel wrong, exactly, but it didn't feel right, either. Beverly pulled away.

“There's something off about this, isn't there.” It was a question but it came out like a statement, and Bill tried to apologize.

“Bev, I-I-I…”

“No, I felt it too. It's okay.” She gave him a little smile. She wasn’t upset, and for that Bill was relieved. “I guess we're just meant to hold hands with other people, huh.”

“The h-hand holding was nice, actually.” Bill said, and Beverly smiled wider. Bill realized he truly felt better, safer and calmer. “Thank you, Beverly.”

“Of course. You're my best friend.” Beverly squeezed his hands again before letting him go.

“D-d-d… Do you really t-think he isn’t there?” Bill had to ask. Beverly frowned.

“I don’t know.” She confessed. “Officer Avarino did say he didn’t hear any…” Her voice died in her throat, looking up at the bedroom door they’d collapsed in front of. Bill followed her line of sight, clutching his stomach as though he’s just been punched in the gut, the wind completely knocked out of him.

There had been something on the door behind the raincoat, a message written in dark red. The door smelled of paint and not iron, but the small relief that the message wasn’t in blood barely helped.

“Leave my home alone or I’ll kill you.” Beverly read slowly, her voice shaking. “I’ll kill you and your sweet brother too.” Beverly gripped Bill’s shoulder, her fingers digging into him. “Bill, he was inside your house.”

That should have scared Bill, and he knew it, but that wasn’t the part of the message he was focusing on. He struggled to his feet, unsure if his legs would hold him. They did, just barely, and he swayed on the spot.

“He’s still alive.” He said. “Georgie’s still alive. We have to go to the Neibolt house.”

“Okay.” Beverly was willing, and he could see that, but she sent an anxious glance out the window down the hall. The sun was just starting to set, the beginnings of orange and pink streaking across the sky. “We will Bill, but tomorrow, okay? I have to go home.”

“Bev--”

“I have to go. Tomorrow we’ll call everyone, and we’ll go to Neibolt, and everything. But tonight I have to go home.”

Bill didn’t understand what had her suddenly so close to tears, but he could tell it was important, and he nodded.

“Okay.”

She gave him a small smile, and after a kiss on the cheek and an expression of farewell, she left. Bill grabbed a towel from the bathroom, hanging it over the door to cover the words, knowing full well that his parents wouldn’t try to move it. He didn’t want them to see the message. They were distraught enough as it was, and they wouldn’t believe him if he told them the truth. They would just be angry with him instead.

He took Georgie’s jacket with him into his bedroom. It smelled mostly of sewage and slightly of blood but Bill couldn’t bear to part with it, laying back on his bed and holding it in his hands. He wasn’t willing to admit it to anyone, most of all himself, but he’d begun to give up hope. Some part of him had just been waiting for a body to turn up, like Betty Ripsom had. Not anymore.

A tiny voice was nagging in the back of his mind, wondering if the whole thing was a trap, or some kind of red herring, Avarino’s words echoing in his mind. _The place was empty._

He shook it away, determination settling in overtop of his uneasy fear. Georgie was in there, and Bill was going to get him out.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh h*ck this is one of my fave chapters, I hope you guys like it!

“Richie, why the hell are you here? It’s barely after eight. I didn’t know you woke up any later than ten-thirty.”

Stan had already been dressed for the day for a little while, so Richie didn't really get why his friend was so surprised to see him. Besides, the words weren’t true anyway; Richie had to be conscious at five forty-five to make it down the trellis in time for Sonia Kaspbrak’s Six O’clock Son Check-in Ceremony. He couldn’t be there for that.

“I'm here because I know you already went to the Jewish Church--”

“Synagogue.”

“--for all your religious fun time, but your parents are gonna be there for a couple more hours. So I figured we could hang. Chat. Plus!” He adjusted an invisible monocle. “I am absolutely smeckish, my old chap! You do have sustenance, I presume.”

“Peckish.” Stan corrected, standing back to let Richie inside. “I don't think 'smeckish’ is a word in any version of the English language.”

“My dear Stanley, didn't you know I was speaking French?”

Stan gave him a grin and let out a fast breath through his nose, which in Richie's book, was completely raucous laughter from his friend, turning to head to the kitchen.

“That’s been a French accent this whole time?”

Richie bounded up to walk next to him, turning up his palms and shrugging.

“Who's to say?”

Stan laughed properly at that. Richie helped himself to the half-full pot of coffee Stan's parents must have left behind, counting the number of teaspoons of sugar he put in, able to point at Stan without looking when his expression changed to one of vaguely disgusted disbelief.

“I can't just drink it plain.” He protested. “I refuse to drink plain bean water.” It was too bitter and acidic. 

“Okay, but all that sugar can’t be any better.”

“Whatever, it’s manlier than the hot chocolate you drink all the time.”

“Debatable.” Stan ran a hand through his curls. “This is what Eddie has to deal with constantly? He must have been a saint in his past life.”

“That little firecracker? Nah. He was definitely a stripper.”

Stan’s eyebrows shot up his forehead.

“Nobody wants that but you.” He said, and while Richie hadn’t genuinely been thinking about it before, just saying something he thought would be funny, he was definitely thinking about it now. He pushed the mental image from his mind, willing his face to stay a neutral color and scoffed, keeping his mouth covered by his mug.

“What, would you prefer Bill?”

Stan promptly choked on what Richie could only assume was his tongue and Richie grinned in satisfaction. Stan hastened to change the subject.

“This is stupid. Didn’t you say you wanted to… Chat, or something? About what?”

Richie swallowed. This was as good a time as any, he supposed. Nerves sat heavily in his stomach, churning like molten lead, and he placed the coffee back on the kitchen counter without having drunk it. He suddenly felt as though he just might throw up on Stan, but he reminded himself that he wanted to do this.

“Stan. The. Man.” Richie sat down slowly next to him, his feet in cadence with his words. Right foot, left foot, then his butt touched the chair. “I have something I need to tell you. Or… I just wanted to tell you first, because if I don’t say something to someone soon I think I’m going to explode.”

“Then talk, because I don’t want Richie guts all over my kitchen.”

“Eh.” Richie made a show of looking around. “Might liven up the place.”

Stan simply looked at him, expectant, and Richie could tell Stan knew he was stalling. Richie was nervous to talk to Stan about as often as Bill managed to say a full sentence, so Stan must know something was up. The last time Richie remembered feeling this way was years ago, after meeting Stan’s parents for the first time and wanting desperately for them to like him. He’d asked Stan what they’d thought, and Stan had been honest--“loud and messy, but he seems okay”--and Richie realized he appreciated the honesty more than a lie that could perhaps have been kinder.

Stan would be genuine with him; that’s why Richie was here. His fingers twitched, and he wished he had something to busy his hands with.

“I’ve been… I dunno, thinking lately.” He began.

“Hurt yourself?” Stan asked him. “It’s usually hard to do things for the first time.”

“Fuck off.” Richie grinned back, but the expression dropped off his face almost at once. “A couple of days ago, I kinda… Well… I’m in love with Eddie.”

There, he said it. He’d repeated it over and over on his own the day before, until there was a stupid smile on his face, but this was different. This was a confession. He swallowed, waiting a beat, gathering the courage to look Stan in the face.

Stan had barely reacted, simply staring at him, the minor tilt of his eyebrows making him look slightly incredulous. Silence stretched between them--it probably didn't last for more than a couple seconds, but to Richie it felt like years--before he couldn’t take it anymore, nausea curling in his stomach, heat rising to his face in a splotchy flush as he sprang to his feet.

“Fuck Stan, if you’re so goddamn disgusted then I’ll just let myself out.”

He turned to the door, Stan’s hand closing in a vice-like grip around his wrist before he could take a step. He wheeled around to face his friend, wrenching his arm back.

“Don’t touch--”

“Shut up, Richie. I didn’t fucking say anything like that. I just… You really are an idiot, aren’t you?”

Richie kept his mouth closed, his lips pressed into a thin line, but his nostrils flared.

“I just thought you already knew.” Stan explained. “I mean… If I could tell, I thought it would be obvious to the person actually in the situation.”

“You could tell? Since when?”

“When was the first time you called him cute? That was like…” Stan pretended to think back, counting on his fingers to nothing in particular. “...what, the first day you saw him?”

“Fuck off.” Richie said again, the phrase holding about as much malice as it had the first time: none, with a side of embarrassment. “Is this going to be old news to everybody but me?”

Stan shrugged. That was a question he didn’t have an answer for.

“Either way, we all love you back, Richie. Even Eddie, I think. So don’t worry so much about it.”

Richie’s stomach flipped over itself and he sat back down for a moment, going over each of Stan’s words, letting them wash away all of the pent up anxiety in his chest. Stan gave him an amused, sympathetic sort of look and put an arm awkwardly around his shoulders, giving him a quick squeeze before walking towards the stove.

“You said you were hungry?”

“Always!” Richie called back, loud to an unnecessary degree, hopping to his feet to help. He couldn’t stop grinning, the aftershocks of his nerves making him shaky and jittery for a solid twenty minutes, despite Stan’s reassurances that really, he was stupid to be so concerned in the first place.

“What had you so freaked out?” Stan asked as Richie took a huge bite of toast, using his other hand to stab scrambled eggs onto his fork. “Have any of us ever given an indication that we would be less than completely okay with it? I mean, Eddie came out to us a couple years ago, and we were fine then.”

The toast suddenly felt like cardboard in Richie's mouth, Stan watching his expression critically. Richie watched his friend put his fork down in realization.

“You aren't okay with it.” He remarked.

“No, no, it's not that.” Richie said quickly, and for once Stan didn't criticize him for speaking with food in his mouth. “I just… Didn't think… It's just different, you know, than what I thought about myself. I talk about macking on girls all the time, and my parents have made it pretty clear how they feel, and…”

“Eddie's mom.” Stan added, and Richie swallowed.

“Yeah, Eddie's mom. D'you think this is why she hates me?”

“No.”  

The bluntness in Stan’s answer made Richie laugh a little, shrugging needlessly and leaning back in his chair. He kept his eyes on the table.

“But anyway, I dunno. I'm pretty sure I’m still into girls and stuff, but I just had this moment where I really wanted to kiss him the other day, and…” Richie was back in the moment, Eddie's body pressed against his in the darkness, Eddie’s head resting against his shoulder, Eddie’s lips light, just barely there against the side of his neck. “I don’t even know what to do. I’m a fucking smitten kitten.”

“Yeah.” To Richie’s surprise, there was a smile on Stan’s face. “You are.”

“Fuck off.” Richie told him for the third time that morning, Stan laughing a little bit. The house phone rang and Stan got to his feet to answer it, and Richie going back to finishing up his breakfast.

“Oh, hey Bill. What happened?”

Richie watched Stan’s expression, frowning as he watched Stan do the same.

“Nothing? Are you sure? But--” Stan’s eyes went wide. “Bill, if he was in your house--no!”

“What’s going on?” Richie asked, but Stan disregarded him.

“I know what I said, but… No, you aren’t going by yourself. No, you and Beverly aren’t going alone.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll come too!” Richie yelled, Stan turning to him with a look that clearly told him he wasn’t helping.

“...yes, Richie’s here. No, because this is stupid.”

Then Stan was silent for a long while, his face becoming increasingly unsettled.

“Bill… Fine. We’ll meet you there.”

“What’s up?” Richie asked. Stan looked a little too green to finish his last piece of toast so Richie ate it for him, talking around the buttered bread. “Where are we going?”

Stan looked as though even saying the name was a bad idea, but he did it anyway.

“The Neibolt house.”

 

 

Mike hadn’t ever been to the Neibolt house, but upon first glance he knew that he would be happy to never see it again. It was dark and scary, and he found himself wishing he’d brought something--anything--to defend himself with. He was second to last to arrive, standing in the front yard with the rest of his friends, Beverly approaching just as Bill finished his explanation of the previous day’s events.

“We really shouldn’t be here.” Eddie said quickly. “I mean… A guy died here, Bill. Yesterday. Doesn’t that freak you out?”

“Besides, the message told you to stay away. This is the exact opposite.” Ben pointed out. “Couldn’t that be bad?”

“If I-I-I don’t t-try to get G-Georgie out, no one e-e-else will.” Bill said. His fists were clenched. “I’m going inside, w-w-whether you’re with m-me or not. But…” He looked around at them. Richie, who was already standing by Bill’s left side, stepped closer and put an arm around his shoulders.

“Lead the way, chieftain!”

Bill gave Richie a hesitant smile. Beverly stepped up too, then Eddie, then Ben. Mike glanced over at Stan, who looked back. It was fairly evident that Stan didn’t want to do this, and didn’t want to be here, but he looked painfully conflicted. Mike felt the same way, but he knew they had to help.

“We’re all in.” He said, keeping eye contact with Stan until he nodded. Then he turned to Bill. “Let’s do this, I guess.”

Bill nodded, then led the way up the front steps. Ben and Beverly were stationed outside the front door, mostly to keep a lookout in case any cops showed up. Stan and Mike himself were in charge of looking around the first floor, while Bill, Richie, and Eddie were headed for the stairs.

“B-be careful.” Bill warned them all. “Watch y-your step, and stuff.”

The only inside light was the sun coming in through cracks in the boarded up windows. The floor creaked as they crossed the threshold, and Mike looked around. Aside from some blood on the floor that looked fairly new, it was apparent that everything else about the place was incredibly old. The house looked as though it had been abandoned for longer than Mike had been alive. The three exploring upstairs continued on, and Mike was left to pick through the dusty kitchen with Stan.

“Be careful.” Stan was murmuring to himself, his voice disbelieving. “Right. In this place.”

“I didn’t misread that, did I?” Mike had to ask. “You did want to come in, right?”

“Well, ideally, none of this would be happening. It would be a normal summer, and we'd be out at the quarry, or dragging Richie out of the arcade to see a movie, or…” His voice was increasing in pitch as he spoke, so he stopped to calm down, letting his shoulders fall. “But yeah. I want to help, this is just…”

“Just fucking insane.” Mike offered. “I know.”

Stan sighed, walking over to the fireplace and looking in.

“This place really does seem empty.” He remarked, just as a bang and muffled curse sounded from upstairs.

“Richie?” Stan asked loudly.

“Fuck. Shit! That hurt.” Richie continued loudly, the gaps between the old floorboards making it easy to hear. It was Bill that called down to them.

“Watch for t-t-tripwires!” He said, Stan closing his eyes.

“Fucking tripwires. Who set all this shit up? There’s a bear trap over here next to the couch.” He gestured, Mike walking over to look, frozen in place when another noise came from the second story of the Neibolt house. That one was an obvious door slam, a strangled scream being very quickly cut off.

“Eddie!” Richie’s voice, frantic, then more slamming sounds. Both Bill and Richie started yelling Eddie’s name, Mike turning towards the stairs to help when Stan grabbed his arm. He pointed up, directly above them, and when Mike fell silent he could hear it. Heavy, cadenced footsteps, with the steady sound of something being dragged across the floorboards. Eddie.

Then the spot where Eddie was became a mass of pounding noises, the sound of a struggle, so sudden and violent that Mike nearly jumped out of his skin. Wood splintered and the floor above them cracked, pieces of debris crashing onto the dining table next to them. Mike shoved Stan one way and ran the other as an entire chunk of ceiling collapsed, Eddie falling through on his back, a figure overtop of him. They completely flattened the table in a tumultuous amount of sound, dust exploding out in a blinding haze.

For a moment, as the air settled, everything was silent. Mike was able to see the scene in the kitchen as the dust cleared, a sickening jolt of fear lurching in his stomach. Stan was standing, wide-eyed and trembling, no less than a foot away from the collapsed dining table. Aside from a few stray cuts though, he seemed mostly unscathed. Eddie was on his back, looking dazed and barely conscious, his right arm unnaturally bent and held aloft by the person standing over him. It was a man, his feet planted solidly as though having landed that way, his outfit dirty grey and ruffly, with a flash of cartoonishly bright orange hair.

The clown turned to look at Stan in a slow, mechanical movement.

“Hello.” He said, grinning wildly.

Stan scrambled backwards in panic, the clown giggling loudly and turning back to Eddie. He shook Eddie’s broken arm, but only a faint sound came from Eddie’s lips as he kicked his feet, still fighting, trying to twist away.

“No more screaming? That’s just no fun.” The clown--Pennywise, it had to be Pennywise--let Eddie’s arm fall, the limb hitting Eddie’s chest uselessly. A crash came from the staircase and Bill and Richie were there, Richie vaulting over the banister with Bill fast on his heels.

“Eddie--!”

Pennywise turned on his heel, Mike taking advantage of the distraction to lunge forward and grab one of the disconnected table legs. Before he could talk himself out of it he swung, cracking the wood across the back of the clown’s head. It splintered on impact and Pennywise stumbled away, giving himself a few good shakes. When he turned to the five of them, there was a smile on his lips but his eyes looked murderous.

“Who thought that would be funny?” He asked. “That wasn’t funny.” He took a step towards them and Mike began backing away, tripping over Bill’s legs and grabbing at the wall for leverage. Pennywise set his eyes on Eddie, whose eyelids were fluttering, his grip tight on Richie’s shirt.

“At least let me finish what I started.” He said, almost as though the request was something reasonable, picking up an oversized serving fork from a pile of silverware that had been lying on the counter next to him. He bent, as though trying to lower himself to their level, then began to advance.

He didn’t get far. With a wild yell, Ben and Beverly jumped into the house, Bev holding a rusted metallic rod. It was pointed at one end like a picket for a fence, and she took the spiked end, plunging it in the clown’s direction. It pierced through his thigh and he roared in anger, swiping at her. Ben stepped in the way, the fork sharper than it looked, ripping through the fabric of his shirt and into his chest. Pennywise was bleeding badly, limping as he retreated backwards from the kitchen, and once he had left the room the air felt incredibly still.

“Don’t let him get away!” Bill shouted desperately, scrambling to his feet and running after the clown, ignoring Beverly’s call after him.

“We need to get the fuck out of here.” Richie’s voice was high in panic. He’d pulled Eddie into his lap as much as he could, the smaller teen now unconscious. “Bill’s the only one that drove here.”

Nodding in understanding, Mike rushed off the way Bill had gone. He found him in a dark back room, pounding at what looked like a manhole cover.

“H-h-h-h-he’s down here!” Bill protested when Mike grabbed at his shoulders to pull him away. “H-h-he--”

“We need to leave.” There were tear tracks through the storm of dust on Bill’s face, his eyes wide, and Mike held his gaze. “Listen. We need to go. Eddie needs help, and you’re the one that drove. We need to get him to a hospital, do you hear me?”

Bill was breathing rapidly, but after a few seconds he let out a shuddering breath and nodded. They returned to find everyone leaving, Eddie in Richie’s arms, Stan helping support Ben down the front steps. Bill offered up his keys, and he looked so unfit to drive that Mike took them. Mike didn’t know how to drive though, and eventually the keys made their way into Beverly’s hands, and they were speeding down the street.

Everyone at the hospital knew Eddie by name, and when Sonia Kaspbrak arrived none of them were allowed to stay. She cursed them all thoroughly in the parking lot, their feeble protests only infuriating her further before she stormed inside.

“O-o-okay.” Bill was taking breaths, looking as though he was processing and calming down, his chest still heaving slightly. Stan looked like the exact opposite was happening to him, his body stock still, his eyes a little too wide. Ben had stopped bleeding, and Richie was a desperately anxious, restless mess. “Okay.”

Everyone looked at him, and he looked back until he realized they were waiting for him to speak.

“I saw the w-well he went into.” He said. “So now w-w-w-we know where he is. When we g-g-go back--”

“Go back?” Richie echoed. He sounded stunned. “Go back? Are you fucking insane?!”

“Richie, n-next time--”

“No! No next time, Bill! You know that I would follow you blind into a minefield but this was a fucking shitshow! We are not doing this again.”

“Rich--”

“No!” Richie said again, even louder. “What part of this are you not getting, Bill? Ben's all ripped to shit again, that monster could've gotten any of us, almost killed Eddie… How could you possibly be thinking--”

“What about G-Georgie?”

“What about him?”

The question caught Bill off guard, simply staring at him for a few moments in disbelief. Tension hung dangerously in the air.

“H-h-he’s there, he's in that house--”

“No, Bill. You're fucking delusional. No one is there except that goddamn clown. It's been weeks, okay? Georgie's dead, and you will be too if you keep this shit up.”

The entire group was wide-eyed. Bill's lips twisted in anger and he shoved Richie in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards into Stan.

“You fucking t-t-t-take that back.”

Richie pushed him back, following up and getting in Bill's face. Mike felt his arms tense, readying himself to grab Richie if it looked like he needed to be held back.

“You couldn't save him Bill, but you could still save yourself.”

“Take it back!”

“Stop it!” Beverly shouted, but before any of them could react, Bill swung and punched Richie in the face. Richie stumbled backwards and fell, looking enraged, leaping to his feet like a bottle rocket and lunging in Bill's direction. Mike grabbed at him, Stan doing the same on the other side. Richie struggled, his elbow nearly hitting Mike in the nose.

“Fine! Hunt down a fucking clown! But stop trying to get us killed too, and if you care at all, about any of us, don't make us watch.”

Then he wrenched himself free and was gone. Stan followed after him, though Mike doubted he would be able to catch up. As much as Mike hated to admit it, he felt himself siding with Richie; there wasn't a logical way to look at this situation and think that going back to Neibolt was a good idea. He made to leave as well, Beverly calling after him in surprise.

“Mike?”

“This is bad, guys.” Mike shook his head. “I'm an outsider. Always have been. And it's pretty obvious that this town doesn't want me, either. I'm sorry.”

Knowing he wouldn't be able to stand the expression on Bill's face, Mike didn't look back as he walked away.

 

 

The first thing Eddie registered was pain. It started as a dull ache in his right arm, but the more his brain returned to consciousness, the more it hurt. His face twisted slightly into a wince but he didn’t want to wake up yet, remembering that his arm was broken. He thought back, remembering his mother stuffing him with pills and leading him up to his room to sleep. A little further back, he remembered leaving the hospital. He remembered opening his eyes in a hospital bed, his mother’s face looming over him. The longer into his memory he searched, the hazier the moments got, and he nearly gave up.

Then the clown was there, right behind his eyelids, grinning madly and closing a gloved hand around Eddie’s throat. He gasped, his eyes flying open, trying desperately to sit up. Pain shot up his arm when he attempted to use it and he fell back against his pillows, struggling breaths in through gritted teeth.

“Eddie! Eddie. You’re okay. You’re home. It’s fine.”

Richie’s voice, fingers tangling with his own in the darkness. Lips pressed gently to his knuckles and Eddie looked around, seeing Richie sitting next to his bed on the desk chair he’d pulled up. He was doused in the silver moonlight streaming through the open window blinds, reaching up with his free hand and brushing Eddie’s hair back from his forehead.

“You’re okay.” He murmured, his breath warm against Eddie’s knuckles, Eddie feeling the panic in his chest subsiding.

“Richie.” He said quietly, loosening his hold on Richie’s hand, hoping he hadn’t hurt him, and Richie gave him a small sort of smile.

“The one and only.”

Then he broke eye contact and sat up straighter, trying to pull away, but Eddie gripped his hand again, unwilling to let him go. Richie resigned himself to the contact and let their hands rest on Eddie’s bedspread, looking at him with concern.

“How are you feeling, Spaghetti Man?”

“I’m fine.” Eddie lied. Richie’s gaze flicked pointedly to his cast. “Okay, my arm hurts. But other than that I really am fine. Stop looking at me like I'm dying. I don't have cancer or something dumb like that.”

Richie chuckled a bit, his voice incredibly soft.

“What about everyone else?” Eddie assumed they were alright, thinking that otherwise Richie would have already told him, and Richie shrugged a little.

“Okay. Nothing too bad. Stan has a few splinters in his face from when you did that swan dive through the second story floor and scared the shit out of everyone.”

Richie’s mention of the moment drew Eddie back into it, the clown gripping his arm and knocking his feet out from under him, Eddie able to regain his wits just enough to kick and flail, not that it had helped much. Richie squeezed his fingers gently, bringing him back to the present.

“Ben kinda got cut up again, but not as much as the first time. Come to think of it, he’s probably going to have some pretty badass scars when everything heals over. Maybe I should get on that, see if I can get Bowers to try to kill me so I can look badass too.”

“It wouldn’t take much persuading.” Eddie remarked, and the little jab had Richie beaming at him. The motion caused his cheekbones to catch the light and Eddie noticed something, frowning.

“What happened to your face?”

“This handsome mug? It’s a blessing and a curse.”

“No, you have a bruise.” He pointed. Richie reached up and touched the injury, making himself wince. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah Eds, I’m fine.” Richie both looked and sounded slightly incredulous. “You aren’t in any state to worry about me.”

“What happened?”

“I…” Richie looked down at their entwined hands. “I had a fight with Bill. He punched me. Knocked me on my ass, to be honest.”

“Wait, what?” Eddie tried to sit up but couldn’t, Richie letting him go to help him upright. “When? Why?”

“It was after we’d dropped you off at the hospital.” Now that Richie's hands were free his fingers were searching for something to fiddle with, restless. “I was scared. We all trusted him, and he led us into that place. He let this happen to you.”

“He didn’t let this happen to me.” Eddie said sharply. “We all knew it wasn’t safe. And I’m fine, remember?”

“But he wants to go back!” Richie ran his fingers roughly through his hair, tugging at the curls that didn’t cooperate. “That fucking clown almost killed you, and he wants to go back.”

“His brother…” Eddie began, but Richie was biting hard on his lip, shaking his head.

“I want to help him, of course I do, but… I can’t lose you, Eds. I love you too much. I couldn't take it.”

“Richie…” Eddie wanted to comfort him, but didn’t know what to say. That was usually Richie’s job; they’d reached the point in any serious conversation of theirs where Richie would crack some stupid joke, break the tension, ruin the moment. But when Richie continued to stay silent, simply searching his eyes, Eddie felt the words crash over him again. “You’re serious.” He breathed.

Richie nodded, looking nervous, his eyes falling to Eddie’s blankets where he found a stray string, picking at it.

“I’m in love with you. I think I have been for a while, but I'm just a fucking idiot.” He laughed a little, looking beautiful and vulnerable all at once, and it was so surreal that Eddie felt tears stinging his eyes.

“I swear Tozier, if this is some fucking joke, or--” His voice was thick and choked up and he cut himself off, hating the way it sounded. Richie looked worried, his hands hovering around Eddie's face as though wanting to console him but not knowing how.

“Shit, am I not doing this right?” He asked. “I'm not just saying this because some chucklefuck bastard tried to kill you. I was going to tell you anyway. I talked to Mike, and Ben, and Stan about it, and… I'm in love with you, Eddie, and I wanted you to know.”

Eddie didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say, not trusting that his voice would work even if he tried. He'd never allowed himself to fantasize about “what if”s, thinking it was too unrealistic and that it would hurt too much, and now he was completely unprepared.

Richie, always bad with silences, was already backing away. He was retreating into himself, the beginnings of panic starting to show on his face. Eddie, still hopelessly stunned, did the only thing he could think of. He grabbed Richie by his shirt front and kissed him.

It was clumsy. Eddie pulled him in with too much force, their noses smushed together uncomfortably, and with Richie completely still against him, Eddie was suddenly terrified that he’d gone too fast. Pushed too hard. But he didn’t want to pull away, desperate not to ruin this moment, and a heartbeat later Richie completely melted against him.

First kisses weren’t perfect, but at the same time, this one was. Richie’s lips were slightly chapped, rough as they slid over Eddie’s, and it was all Eddie had not to sigh against his mouth. He reached up to thread his fingers softly through Richie’s hair, and at his touch Richie drew back, speechless.

“Wow, Eds.” He finally said, and Eddie had to blush at the coarseness in Richie’s voice. “You kiss almost as well as your mom.”

Eddie stared him in the face for a full ten seconds, Richie breaking down into giggles five seconds in.

“Fuck you, Trashmouth.”

“Is that an invitation?”

Eddie punched him in the arm and Richie jumped him, wrapping him completely in a hug. They collapsed on the bed together in a messy pile of limbs and Eddie heard himself laugh, Richie pressing a few kisses to the side of his head.

“Richie--”

“You need to sleep.” Richie interrupted. “I kinda woke you in the middle of the night. I’ll have to be gone in the morning--you know, your mom and all--but call me when you wake up, okay?”

“Richie--”

“And make sure you take your meds.” Richie was nervous, talking quickly, and Eddie really wasn’t sure why, but he could feel Richie tensing up next to him. “Especially painkillers for your arm.”

“Richie--”

“And--”

“Richie!” Eddie flicked Richie in the forehead to shut him up. When it worked, he pressed a chaste kiss to Richie’s cheek, situating himself comfortably by his side, under Richie’s arm. “Richie, I love you too.”

“...oh.”

Eddie enjoyed the starstruck expression on Richie’s face for a few seconds, realizing a moment later that his eyes were welling up, the tip of his nose turning red. Unable to give him a hug, Eddie just buried his face into Richie’s chest.

“That was supposed to make you happy.” He mumbled into Richie’s shirt, feeling Richie shake his head.

“I am happy.” He said, his voice rough and he swallowed thickly, Eddie looking back up at him. “I’m so damn happy Eddie, I--”

He cut himself off, tilting Eddie’s mouth to meet his own, kissing him. There was so much intensity behind the action, so much emotion behind the pressure of his lips as they slid across Eddie’s own that Eddie felt something in his chest ache. He pressed closer and Richie pulled him in, wrapping an arm around his waist, holding him even after the kiss had broken. Eddie felt completely breathless, Richie taking a deep breath of his own.

Then, to Eddie’s astonishment, he began murmuring out apologies, something about not asking if a kiss was okay, Eddie simply shaking his head and pulling Richie’s lips to his again.

“You are not actually trying to apologize for the best kiss I’ve ever had.”

Richie grinned a little, resituating the both of them on the bed, and Eddie somehow found himself on top of Richie, laying against his chest.

“But aren't I like… The only kiss you’ve ever had?”

“Hey, Richie?”

“What?”

“Shut the fuck up and just let me kiss you.”

Richie flushed, laughing at him.

“Anything for you, Eds.”

“And don’t call me that.” Eddie muttered, and he leaned in.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it's been forever since I last posted!! school + work + my 21st birthday all combined to completely kick my ass. But I'm still alive, and it shouldn't be as long between this chapter and the next. This chap feels like it's got a lil too much fun fluff and not quite enough plot, but character bonding is important, right? I hope you all enjoy it <3

“Shit!”

The exclamation was hushed but it still made Beverly jump horribly, turning to the source of the noise. It was Richie, gripping the doorframe with one hand to steady himself, the other on his chest.

“Jesus Christ, Bev. You gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry.” She mumbled. Richie walked over to her, confusion in his expression, and Beverly realized for possibly the first time how strange this must be. She'd entered Richie's house while he'd been out and was now in his room, standing by the open window and smoking a cigarette, and it was nearly four in the morning.

“You're in my house.” He said. She smiled hesitantly.

“I mean… you did say I could just come on over. For those midnight ragers.”

He laughed a little when he remembered what she was referring to, asking for a drag on her cigarette. She handed it over.

“We missed midnight.” He remarked, blowing a cloud of smoke through his window. “We can have a four a.m. rager, if you really want. Though I think I'm out of Cheetos.”

She shrugged a little. “As long as we're following the underwear dress code.”

Richie shook his head, handing the cigarette back.

“No can do, Your Majesty. Sorry to disappoint, but I'm a taken man now.”

The most smitten smile Beverly had ever seen bloomed across Richie’s face, and her mouth fell open in happy surprise.

“You kissed Eddie!”

Richie laughed, cursing.

“I did. A couple of times, actually. How did you know it was him?”

“I have eyes.” She answered matter of factly. “All the flirting between you two really was getting disgusting.” She pointed at him accusingly with the cigarette between her fingers. “He was convinced you didn't like him, you know.”

“You guys talked about me?” He asked, continuing before she could answer. “And I didn't know, honest!”

Beverly shook her head in disbelief, putting out her stump of a cigarette.

“I know.” Richie shook his head too. “I've been thinking back through all these dumb things I did and I can't believe it either. I went to his house in my underwear a few days ago. Why the hell did I do that?”

Beverly laughed out loud, lighting up another stick.

“I'm happy for you.” She told him. Richie gave her a smile.

“Yeah, I'm happy too. Got any tips for me?”

“Tips?” She echoed, confused. “What, like how to make out with your boyfriend? Because I can't help you there.”

Richie got adorably flustered at the word 'boyfriend’, stuttering out a few incomprehensible phrases, and even in the dark Beverly could see a blush on his face. She spoke again, simply to give him more time to collect himself, but wasn’t able not to grin at him.

“What makes you think I could help you?”

Richie shrugged.

“I mean, I’m a lot of talk--fuck off--” He said quickly when Beverly laughed “--but I’ve never… I don’t know anything about this stuff. But you…”

“Me?” Beverly asked hesitantly. “What about me?” She had a terrible feeling she knew where this was going, remembering rumors that had followed her around for years throughout the school. Richie seemed to realize he’d touched on something he shouldn’t have, taking a step back from her, just out of arm's reach.

“I’ve just… Heard some things. That you’ve been…” She raised her eyebrows, and he finished weakly, wincing as though she’d already hit him. “...around.”

Richie waited for her to react, but when she did no more than stare at him, he began floundering.

“It was just talk, just rumors and stuff, I know it’s not… I don’t--”

“None of it is true, alright?” She said sharply. “Gretta just lives to make my life hell.”

“Alright.” She appreciated how immediate and steadfast his response was. “Sorry Bev.”

He was still looking at her warily, so Beverly sighed and offered her cigarette out as a peace offering. He took it.

“Anyone you like now, though?” He asked her. Her mind went immediately to the postcard stashed away in the tampon box in her bathroom, and she shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

“Really?” Richie raised his eyebrows skeptically. “I could’ve sworn you had the hots for Bill.”

“Yeah, I thought I might.” She confessed. “We kissed, but it wasn’t really…”

She trailed off, unsure of how to explain the lack of romantic tension, the pure comfort behind the action with an absence of everything else. Richie's eyes widened a little behind his glasses, amusement playing on his lips.

“Big Bill is a bad kisser?” He asked in excitement. Beverly shook her head.

“No, nothing like that. It was nice, but…”

“But it takes a lot more than ‘nice’ to please a girl like Beverly Marsh.” Richie winked and made a growling sound in his throat, grinning, and she punched him in the arm.

“Beep beep Richie. It just didn't feel right, I guess. And it wasn't just me; Bill felt it too.”

“Ah. Shame. Bill has a really cute ass.”

Beverly looked over at him, feeling slightly astonished.

“Honestly, how did you not know you were into guys?” She asked, and Richie just shrugged uselessly. “Is his butt cuter than Eddie's?”

“Nah.” The word came out like a sigh, Richie folding his arms and resting against them on the open window. “Eds has the cutest everything.”

He stood there for a moment before he caught the look she was giving him, straightening up and telling her to shove it before burying his face in his hands.

“Hey.” His voice was a little muffled. “If I ask you something embarrassing, do you promise not to tell anyone about it?”

She considered him for a second before shrugging.

“Depends on how embarrassing it is.”

Richie laughed, lifting his head back up.

“That's fair.” He allotted.

“What's your question?”

Richie fidgeted with the collar of his shirt.

“So… How lame is it that I…” He scratched the back of his neck, obviously hesitant, and she raised her eyebrows, prompting him to continue.

“Lame that you what?”

“How lame is it that I cried when Eddie told me he loved me back? Not a lot, you know, like…” He mimed something gushing from his face. “...but a little.”

That was probably the sweetest thing Beverly had ever heard, and once she started smiling she couldn't stop.

“Really, really lame.” She said, but she knew he could tell what she meant by the smile on her face. He smiled back, letting his head hang.

“I'm fucked, Bev.”

“Yeah.” She agreed, offering over the rest of her cigarette. “You like it though.”

Quiet fell over them, and Beverly felt herself relaxing for the first time all day. She glanced over at Richie, who was tapping his thumbs absently against the window sill as he stared quietly out onto the dark street below them, and felt a rush of gratitude towards him. He was allowing her to simply be here without question, and keeping her company. It was as though after the events of the day he knew she needed a safe haven, and while Richie's room wasn't exactly her perfect idea of safe, it was better than her own house.

Richie pulled out his own pack of cigarettes despite Beverly insisting that she didn't mind sharing, flicking open Patrick Hockstetter's lighter.

“Is it weird?” She asked. “Using it?”

Richie shrugged.

“I don't know. How's Bill?”

She didn't ask why he assumed she would know.

“He's okay, I guess. He does feel really bad about what happened to Eddie and Ben, even though it really wasn't his fault.”

Richie murmured something on the contrary to her statement, but she decided to ignore it.

“He understands why you got angry. He's not an idiot, Richie. He knows it's dangerous, he just… He not going to give up on Georgie until there's a body, dead or alive.”

“Yeah, I know.” Richie gave a long, slow exhale. “He's so stubborn it's stupid. And I get it, I do, but…”

“But we're in over our heads and our lives are in danger?” She supplied. He glanced down at her, laughing a little.

“Something like that. Bill's usually a lot more fun than this. You met him at a weird time.”

“Weird is one way of putting it." Silence settled comfortably between them again, and together they finished the remaining three Winstons in Richie's box. When five o’clock rolled around, Beverly started for the door.

“I should get home.” She explained. “My dad will be up for work in an hour.”

“I'll walk you.” Richie offered, going down the stairs with her, but she declined.

“I'll be fine. Thanks though.” She paused in the doorway, wondering if she should hug him farewell when he fixed her with a curious expression.

“Hey, Beverly?”

“Yeah?”

“Don't get me wrong, I love your company.” He paused for moment before continuing on. “And you don't have to answer if you don't want, I completely get it, but... Why are you here? Are you alright?”

She frowned a little, debating how to answer. Richie misread her expression.

“No, forget I asked, don't worry about it.”

“It's okay.” She felt as though Richie deserved at least some sort of explanation. “I couldn't sleep. I couldn't calm down after what happened today. I didn't… I don't know. I didn't feel safe.”

He nodded a little, but his eyes still held that curious expression.

“You didn't feel safe, so you left the warmth of your own bed, trekked through town in the dark while a killer clown is on the loose, and broke into my house? Me, of all people?”

It sounded strange when put that way, she had to admit.

“Your parents don't ask questions.” She explained.

“Sure, but still. You didn't feel safe in your own house?”

“I never do.”

The bitter words were out of her mouth before she realized she was going to say them, a bolt of fear coursing through her stomach. Richie was looking at her with worry, but the hesitancy in his expression told her that she hadn't broken any disclosure agreements; she could still declare that she didn't want to talk about it, and he would accept that. But seeing the concern on his face made her chest ache with the desperate urge to just tell someone, and maybe it was because it was five in the morning on a sleepless night, but she gave in.

“My mom died of cancer when I was really little, and my dad is a piece of shit.”

Richie's eyebrows went up his forehead, and he began tapping his fingers against his thighs.

“Okay. What flavor of terrible is he? Terrible like my dad, or more like Eddie's mom?”

Neither comparison felt right, Beverly shaking her head. The words got stuck in her throat for a moment, but she forced them past her lips anyways.

“He… He abuses me.”

Richie's tapping stopped. Beverly heard the words as she said them and felt queasy, clenching her fists. Richie's eyes traveled over her, incredibly wide behind his glasses.

“But you never have any bruises, or… Oh.” The word came out small, but the horror on his face was enough for Beverly to know he understood. “Beverly…”

“That's why, why…” She swallowed, steadying her voice. She'd never confided in anyone before, feeling shaky and off-balance. “That’s why I hit you the other day, when you called me Bevvy. That's… It's what he calls me. I'm sorry.”

Richie shook her apology off, pulling her in for a bone-crushing hug, and she clung to his shoulders. She felt his heart hammering just as her's was, and when she let him go he was past her and out the door, his feet quick and strides so long she had to run down the front steps to catch up to him.

“Richie, what’s wrong? Where are you going?”

“I'm going to fucking kill him.” The vehemence in his voice surprised her, and she grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop.

“No--”

“You can't tell me about this scumbag and expect me not to do anything!” He protested. “Beat the shit out of him, or at least call the police, or--”

“If he finds out that anyone knows he'll make us move again. I don't want to lose you guys. Please.” Richie didn't look convinced, but he didn't start off again when she released his arm. “I'm okay.”

“Bev…” He looked at a loss for words, and for someone as incessantly talkative as Richie to be this distressed and concerned on her behalf made her feel like crying.

“I'm fine. I promise to be careful. I'll stay safe. If anything happens, I'll get help.” The promise was something she'd told herself for years, but never truly acted on. Now that she was saying it aloud it felt real, and it terrified her. But it was what she wanted, more desperately than anything. “I promise.”

The fight left Richie's limbs, but the fire hadn't faded behind his eyes.

“Please don't tell the others.” Beverly requested. He sighed, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“Of course. It isn't my place to tell them something like this.” He searched her eyes, looking conflicted. “But anything you need, my door is always open, alright?”

“I know it is.” She tried to smile at him, but it was shaky at best, and he didn't return the expression. “The door wasn't locked. I walked right in.”

“Just for you.” He smiled then, just a little. “Are you actually going home now?”

“Yeah. Talk to you later, Richie. Thanks.”

“Sure.”

Beverly began home. It felt strange now that someone else knew the secret she’d kept to herself for so long, but it felt better, somehow. She remembered the look on Richie’s face when she’d told him, and hoped she hadn’t ruined his night. Either way, she was grateful to him.

She snuck back in through her bathroom window as the sky was beginning to lighten, not wanting to chance going through the front door. She retrieved the postcard and hid it under her shirt as she crept into her room, her entire body tensing when she heard shuffling around in the front of the house. She hurried to change from her street clothes back into her nightgown, hearing footsteps coming down the hall. Her underwear drawer was slightly open so she shoved the postcard inside and all but jumped into bed, about to pull the covers over her when the bedroom door opened.

“Bevvy?” Her father stepped inside. He was dressed for work, a still-folded newspaper in his hand. “You’re up early.”

Beverly pulled the covers up to her chin.

“I just went to the bathroom, that’s all.”

She knew she didn’t look bleary-eyed or sleep-tousled, but maybe the fatigue on her face from a sleepless night was convincing enough, because he didn’t ask any questions.

“I just wanted to tell you that I’ll be working late tonight, but the sundown curfew still stands. It’s dangerous out there.” He tossed the newspaper onto her bedspread. It had the headline _BODY FOUND_ above a picture of Patrick Hockstetter’s missing poster. “Stay safe.”

“Yes Daddy.” His concern made her feel sick, but she kept the expression off her face. He turned, closing the door behind him.

 

 

 

“Bill…” Stan sighed, nudging the phone into the crook of his neck to hold it in place with his shoulder, twirling the cord around his finger. “Don’t worry so much, okay? I’m sure Richie knows that.”

“But are you r-really sure?”

Stan paused. “No, Bill. I haven’t seen or spoken to Richie in the past three days. But he knows how much you care about us, okay? He must know you feel bad. And it wasn’t your fault, really.”

Bill was silent on the other line and Stan got up to pace a little bit, the phone cord coiling and unwinding as he walked across the room and back. He glanced out the dark window, night having fallen a couple of hours ago, the bright moonlight making its way through the trees in his front lawn.

“Just call him, if you’re so worried. Hang up on me and dial his number right now.”

“B-b-but--”

“You pushed first.” Stan pointed out, and Bill began mumbling something Stan couldn’t decipher. “You have to reach out to him.”

“But h-he…”

“I know. He said a lot of shitty things. But those are the rules. And besides, he probably feels bad too.”

While he said it, Stan wasn’t sure about the truth behind his last statement. Stan hadn’t seen or heard from any of the other Losers since the Neibolt house disaster until today, when Bill called him. He was sure though that Richie was bound to be wherever Eddie was, and that was probably Eddie’s room, and that probably meant he didn’t feel too down in the dumps.

Stan had called Eddie’s home the day after Neibolt to make sure he was okay, but Mrs. Kaspbrak had declined his request to speak to her son. She was rather irate, insisting that they leave her alone, because apparently he’d been the third person to call that day asking to talk to him. The anger had surprised him a bit; he wasn’t used to Mrs. K being angry with him. Between all of Eddie’s friends, she seemed to like him the best, with Bill being a close second. He supposed recent events had changed things, and now Stan didn’t know when he’d be able to see Eddie again. He couldn’t imagine Sonia Kaspbrak was letting her precious daffodil of a son into the scary outside world with a cast on his arm.

“How are you?” He asked Bill, to break the silence. “Are you okay?”

“...I d-don’t know.” Bill admitted after a moment. “I’m alive. I’m not hurt, or sick.”

“I wasn’t asking about the bare minimum for ‘okay’, Bill.”

Bill was quiet for a long moment, and Stan wished he were here, so he could read his expression instead.

“Hey, Stan?” His voice was soft.

“Yeah?”

“I went back. To t-the Neibolt house.” He said it like he was admitting a secret, the words taking a second to register.

“What?” Stan sat up fast, nearly choking on his inhale. “Bill, what the hell--”

“I’m f-fine!” Bill said quickly, and Stan tried to believe him, but it was hard to really think that Bill had gone into a place like Neibolt alone and come back out unscathed. “I’ve gone back twice. Yesterday, and… And earlier. I was quiet, a-and I didn’t spring any of the traps. I tried to get t-t-the manhole cover off, but I can’t. It’s stuck somehow.”

“Are you crazy?”

“I didn’t see the clown.” Bill said. “I didn’t s-see Pennywise. I… I didn’t see anyone.” Bill sounded hurt, his voice small, and Stan regretted how harsh he was sounding. All the same, he was having a difficult time reigning himself in. It scared him for Bill to have done something so reckless.

“Bill, maybe that’s not such a bad thing. We could have scared him off, or something.” He wanted to think that driving a metal spike through Pennywise’s thigh was enough to get him to leave them alone. Regretfully, that probably wasn't true.

“What ab-b-bout Georgie? He’s still alive down there, so I need to find a w-way in.”

“I don’t know, Bill. I just… I’m sorry, but I really never want to see that damn clown again.”

A shadow moved slowly across Stan’s front lawn. Confused, paranoia creeping in, Stan walked to the window to look. When he did his heart stilled in his chest, clutching at the phone.

“Stan?” He must have made some sort of noise, because Bill sounded concerned.

“He's here.” It was the clown, it was Pennywise, standing just outside his door, his hand on the doorknob, visible only by the porch light. “He's here, my parents are out, I forgot to lock the door, he--”

Then the front door clicked open, and fear had Stan's throat closing up.

“Hang up and hide.”

Hands shaking, Stan slowly put the phone back on the receiver. He was about to take a step to the door when he heard a deep, disgusting voice passing the living room.

“The one that lives nearby is too damn fat. The black one lives too far away. The brother would be convenient, but he’s the one I need… This one’s small enough. I can take him.” The clown made his way down the hallway, towards the stairs. “I would hate to think I scared all the little boys away.”

It wasn't until Stan was sure that Pennywise was all the way on the upper story of the house that he was able to struggle his limbs back into motion. He was quiet on sock-clad feet, making it across the hall to his father's study, telling himself periodically to breathe, because he felt so lightheaded that it was hard to remember.

He wasted no time, slipping in through the crack of the barely-open door and ducking under the desk. The study room had been a prime hide-and-seek spot when Stan and his friends were still young enough for that game, making it the first place he thought of. The door creaked loudly whenever it was opened or closed, letting the hider know that it was time to be extra quiet without even looking, in case the seeker was in the room too. The desk was nearly a box, with three wooden panels going down in lieu of table legs, much of it ornately carved. It had been a gift to his father, and Stan wasn't really supposed to touch it, but he figured this was a circumstance that could be excused.

He pulled the chair in as close as he could and sat stock still, wiping at his tear-streaked cheeks and covering his mouth and nose with a hand to keep his breathing as quiet as possible. He could hear the clown tromping around upstairs and realized he'd never been more grateful that his parents weren't home. They were safe, even if he wasn't.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the clown turned back and began descending the stairs. He grumbled as he walked, Stan unable to make out the words until he was near the study room door.

“I thought perhaps just the parents went out, but no, it was a fancy dinner for everyone! A waste of time. But perhaps I should leave him a balloon.”

The door creaked, and Stan held back a gasp. But it didn't swing open, and the clown didn't come in. There was a jostling of the doorknob, then silence. And then the clown was gone, first down the hallway, then out the front door, the echo loud as the door was slammed shut. Stan sat and waited, waited until he was sure beyond a doubt that he was alone before convincing himself to move. He pushed the chair back and crawled out from under the desk, only allowing rest for a moment before pulling himself up, pressing one hand against the desk top to keep on his feet, using the other to take his father's phone and call the Denbrough household. Thankfully, it was Bill that answered.

“Stan?”

+*-“I'm okay.” As he said it, he felt his eyes welling up in relief. “He left. He didn't find me.”

“S-s-s-stay where you are.” Bill said, and he sounded shaken too. “I'm coming.”

Bill hung up and Stan let himself sink to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest and fighting in breaths through tears. He felt himself near hyperventilation when the front door opened and slammed again and he jumped horribly, but it was just Bill. It was Bill, running in and looking breathless, falling to his knees and pulling Stan into his arms. He held on tight and Stan clung to him, pressing his face into Bill's chest, wanting desperately to feel safe.

“I've got you.” Bill murmured into his hair, rocking slightly on the floor. “I'm h-here. He's gone. You're okay now. I-it's okay.”

All Stan knew as he began to calm down was that he didn't want Bill to go. He couldn't be in this house alone. Thankfully, Bill seemed to understand that too.

“You're spending the night at my house.” He declared. He pulled back to look Stan in the eye, his arms relaxing from tight around his shoulders to loose around his lower back. His voice was so insistent that Stan couldn't have declined even if he wanted to. “Tonight, and tomorrow night, and as many nights as you need to.”

“Thanks.” Stan murmured, and together they got to their feet. Stan turned to the desk for a pen and paper to leave a note for his parents, and Bill turned to the door.

“Uh, Stan…?”

“What?” Stan asked, turning. Bill was giving him a hesitant, questioning look, and next to him, tied to the study room doorknob and hovering barely an inch below the ceiling, was a red balloon.

“What’s this?”

Stan didn’t know. But then he remembered Pennywise’s words-- _perhaps I should leave him a balloon-_ -and realized it was from the clown.

“He left it there, I think.” Stan said, Bill nodding a little. “I never actually saw him. Does it say anything, or is it just…?”

Bill turned the balloon all the way around to look at it, and they both saw _I ❤ DERRY_ in large white lettering. Bill took the pen from Stan’s hand, stabbed the balloon with a loud “pop!”, then untied it from the doorknob and stuffed it in his pocket.

“Your p-parents don’t need to see t-t-that. Come on, let’s go.”

Nodding, Stan wrote that he was at Bill’s, that they could call if they needed anything, and that he loved them, signing his name at the bottom. He looked around cautiously as they exited the house, but it was only a short walk down the driveway to Bill's car, Stan letting out a breath of relief as the key turned in the ignition and the car grumbled to life.

 

 

 

“You have cute elbows.”

At the words, Eddie paused. He was in the middle of changing into a clean outfit for the day, up to his elbows in a t-shirt that he had yet to pull over his head. He leaned out of the closet to look at Richie.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Richie was lying upside down across his bedspread, his head dangling off the edge of the mattress, his curls nearly touching the floor. He shrugged, reaching an arm out.

“And the dimples on your back. I like those.”

Eddie was beginning to blush a little and Richie liked blushing Eddie very, very much, beckoning him over. Eddie had been trapped in his room for a solid three days now, and Richie had decided he was going to keep him company. He’d brought over a change of clothes, hiding in Eddie’s closet whenever Eddie’s mother came up the stairs. He’d thought that maybe Eddie would get tired of him, ready to leave at the smallest sign of exasperation, but instead Eddie was smiling, and kissing him quite a bit. Richie knew he should probably be worrying about what his friends were up to, his fight with Bill coming to mind every once and awhile, but for the most part he was too over the moon to care.

Eddie complied to his silent request and walked over, Richie sitting up, reaching up to run his hands down Eddie’s sides. He settled his hands comfortably around Eddie’s waist, revelling in how soft his skin was.

“You have to let me get dressed.” Eddie told him, his voice barely a murmur, his face still pink. Richie hummed a little.

“Yeah, but I don't want to.” He leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to the skin just above Eddie's navel, leaving his lips there and feeling Eddie shiver. Then he blew a loud, wet raspberry against his stomach.

“Richie!” Eddie shrieked, shoving him backwards and squirming away. Richie fell flat on his back on Eddie's bed, laughing, and Eddie pulled his shirt over his head with a huff, struggling around his cast as he grumbled. He was bright pink now, and Richie loved it. “You're disgusting, the absolute worst--”

They both froze when the sound of Sonia Kaspbrak tromping up the stairs became audible. Richie scrambled to his feet, still giggling as Eddie shoved him in the closet and closed the door. Then Eddie's mother burst in.

“Are you talking to someone? I heard your voice.”

“Just, uh… Just myself.”

“I heard a name.” It was obvious by her tone that she knew which name it was, and didn't approve. Maybe she trusted her son too much, because she didn't try to look around the room.

“Oh, yeah. Richie. Just thinking about how much I hate that guy.”

Richie smothered a choked laugh in a handful of Eddie's sweaters. Mrs. Kaspbrak was quiet for a little while, but seemed to buy the excuse.

“What are you doing up?” She asked. “You should get back in bed.”

“Mommy, I only broke my arm. My legs still work.”

“But it weakened your immune system, remember? I told you. Now you have to fight off your sickness.”

“What sickness? I feel fine.”

Richie had always noticed this voice Eddie used with talking to his mother, slightly babied with placating sort of tone to it. It was gone now though, and he found himself wondering when the change had happened.

“That's because you're on your medication right now. It would be terrible if the drugs wore off.”

Eddie was quiet for a long moment.

“Is it contagious?” He asked finally. Mrs. K was quiet too before answering.

“Of course it is. Why else would I keep you away from your friends? Now get in bed.”

Eddie's door swung shut. A few seconds passed, then Eddie opened the closet door. He looked troubled, and they sat together on his bed.

“I don't know what you mom thinks the doctor told her but you're not sick, Eds. You look healthy, you act healthy, and with all the spit swapping we've been doing--”

“Beep beep, Richie.”

“I'm just saying! I would have gotten super infected by now, so… She's lying to you, at least a little.”

The fact that Eddie didn't seem to think of this as new news was a bit scary. Richie scooted closer, offering up his shoulder, and Eddie rested against him with a sigh.

“What kind of disease are you supposed to have, anyway?”

“I don't know. Something chronic, I think. My monocytic cells keep it away unless my immune system gets weakened by something.”

“But what's it called?”

“I don't know.”

Something about it all didn't seem right, and Richie couldn't figure why he hadn't realized it until now. Eddie had carried an inhaler around since he was five, but was much less wheezy than the only other asthmatic kid in town, and could run so well that Richie supposed he could be a track star if his mother hadn't stopped him from signing up for the team. Eddie was supposedly sick all the time, but between himself, Richie, Bill, and Stan, he actually looked and acted sick less than the rest of them by a significant margin. Eddie was supposed to be a weak and fragile boy, but Richie knew those words didn’t fit him at all, more sharp-tongued and tenacious than anything else.

But at the same time this was Eddie, who swabbed down his desk and section of cafeteria table with antibacterial wipes every day, who always cleaned under his fingernails, who took every pill dutifully and without question and still believed that mothers always wanted what was best for their children. Richie got to his feet.

“I'm busting you outta here, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Eddie gave him an exasperated look.

“I've told you, I refuse to skip town until we finish high school.”

“First of all no, you have not told me that and we are totally revisiting that topic later, but that’s not what I meant. Just out for the day! A good ol’ fashioned jailbreak. You've gotta be tired of being cooped up in here.”

Eddie didn't deny it.

“I can't climb down the trellis with a broken arm.” He finally said.

“True.” Richie frowned for a moment. “Hop on my back, I'll get us both down.”

“No, we'd be too heavy. It would break.”

“Yeah, then I’d have to use your front door like a normal person, and that just wouldn’t do.” Richie scratched at his chin thoughtfully. “Alright, no two ways about it. I’ll distract the wildebeest downstairs, and you make a break out the back door. Sound good?”

“Don’t call my mom a wildebeest.” Eddie reprimanded, though he looked amused. “I dunno, Richie. She checks on me every three hours; she’ll know I’m not here.”

“C’mon!” Richie took Eddie’s hands in his and swayed them, giving what he hoped was a convincingly pleading expression. “You can only kiss me so many times before you get bored.”

It was meant as a joke, but got very not funny very fast when Eddie didn’t even crack a smile. Eddie caught the look Richie was trying to keep off his face and got to his feet too, sighing a little.

“Trashmouth, listen to me. How many times do I have to let you crawl in my window at two in the morning before you get it in your skull that I’ll never get tired of you?”

Richie offered up a weak grin, tapping his temple with his pointer finger.

“Can’t help it, Eds. Got a little bit of built up trauma in there, you see.”

Eddie gave a small laugh and smiled, leaning in towards him. His gaze rested on Richie’s lips for a moment, something Richie had begun to notice that Eddie did just before he kissed him, as though placing where Richie’s lips were so as not to miss once he closed his eyes. It was adorable, and though Richie knew he should be leaning into the kiss as well, he couldn’t help just standing there and smiling stupidly. Eddie paused.

“What?” He asked.

“Just, isn’t it exciting to be about to kiss the cutest boy in the world?” Richie asked him. Eddie was mid eye roll when Richie continued. “I mean, not that you would know because that’s how I feel, but can you imagine?”

The words took a moment to register, but when they did Eddie blushed so badly Richie worried for a moment that he might catch fire.

“If you say cheesy bullshit like that to me again you’re sleeping on the floor.” He threatened.

“I can stay over again?” Richie wasn’t sure why it surprised him, but it did. Eddie, already flustered, floundered a little.

“You have the past few days, so I just, I just assumed--”

“Come here.” They were close already, but Richie tugged him in the rest of the way to close the distance. But the kiss didn’t last long, Richie unable to get the smile off his face, a smile Eddie took as teasing and leaned back to hit him lightly in the chest. Richie didn’t mind.

“Alright.” Eddie fixed him with a serious look. “How are you planning on distracting the wildebeest?”

Richie beamed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! Formal apology for this chapter, because it kinda breaks away from the format I wanted for this fic: it's all from Richie's point of view. I know, I'm sorry, but I started writing the scene and didn't realize it was over 8k words until I'd finished it. It's got a lot of stuff I wanted to have be from Richie's perspective, and when I tried reworking it to be from different perspectives it just felt clunky. So... yeah. This chapter is a little longer than the others, and it's all Richie, but we'll return to our regularly scheduled programming in the next part! Thank you for reading!!

Richie thought he would need to knock on the front door to get Sonia Kaspbrak’s attention, but all it took was for him to set one foot on her lawn before she was out of the house, lumbering down the porch steps towards him. Her beady eyes were angry behind her glasses.

“What are you doing here?” She asked shortly. Richie gave her what he hoped was a winning smile.

“I just wanted to check on Eddie! Make sure he’s alright, you know. He had a nasty fall. A fall that was not any of our fault, by the way.” 

She huffed at him. 

“He’s in bed. You’ll have to come back later.”

Richie raised an eyebrow.

“You’re inviting me to your house later today?”

“No.” 

“Well, now I’m just confused.”

Her nostrils flared, and Richie didn’t need to say anything more. He was informed that he was a loudmouthed smart aleck (which he already knew, thanks) and he found that despite how much she hated him, it was actually hard to get her to stop talking to him.

“Well, I’ve gotta scram.” He finally said after a couple minutes spent inching closer and closer to the road, cutting her off mid-word. “Not that it hasn’t been lovely, but I’ve got someplace to be. A date, if you will. And Mrs. K, I really do miss Eddie. Tell him hi for me, alright?”

He gave a wave, then started up the street. Eddie was just around the corner, waiting for him.

“Geez, that took a while. Did you two solve world hunger or something?”

“It actually wasn’t me doing most of the talking, thank you very much.”

“Okay, for once in your life.”

Richie reached down and took Eddie’s hand, grinning when it made him flustered, and they started together towards town. The more people they saw the more Richie was unsure if Eddie wanted to keep to holding his hand like this, but any time he tried to pull away his boyfriend’s grip was steadfast, and Richie’s heart soared. 

“...and because of your nasal turbinates and uvula, you’ll probably snore when you’re older.” Eddie was saying. He was using a bunch of medical terminology for normal body parts, and as a result Richie barely could follow what he was talking about.

“Uh huh. Eds?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop saying uvula. I don’t think I have one.”

“It’s just the dangly thing in the back of your throat, Richie.” 

“...oh.” 

Eddie laughed at him, sighing a little.

“Thanks for this. You were right; I was going a crazy in there.”

Richie grinned. 

“Say that again. I barely ever get to hear anyone say that I’m right.” 

“No.”

“Please? Come on Eds!”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Eddie? Richie?” 

They turned at the familiar voice, face to face with Mike. He was slowing his bike to a stop, hopping off when he reached them. Richie caught his eyes going to their entwined hands, but he didn’t say anything about it.

“How are you guys? I haven’t heard from either of you.”

“Alright.” Eddie supplied. “Could be better.” He held up his cast, the bulky plaster making his upper arm look even tinier than usual. Mike nodded a little.

“I tried to call your house, but your mom got mad and wouldn’t let me talk to you. Well, that and she didn’t know who I was.” 

“...sorry.” Eddie said, but Mike waved him off. “Have you talked to anyone else?”

Mike shook his head.  

“I called Stan this morning, but he wasn’t home. I think he…” He trailed off, glancing across the street. “He’s right there, actually.”

They all turned. Bill, Ben, and Stan were walking along the other side of the street, an overnight bag slung over Stan’s back. Mike waved and Ben noticed, stopping the other two to point and wave back. Richie met Bill’s eyes across the road and Bill’s lips fell into a line, Richie feeling his own expression harden. 

“Let’s go talk to them.” Eddie said, starting forward to cross the street. Richie didn’t move, and Eddie glanced back when he felt the resisting tug on his hand.

“I don’t want to.” Richie confessed. “I think Bill’s still mad at me.”

“Well, let’s walk over and find out.” 

“Eddie--”

“I’ve spent three days stuck in my room and I want to see my friends.” Eddie insisted, letting Richie’s hand go and stepping into the street. He was halfway across when there was the rev of an engine and a wild yell, Henry Bowers’s black convertible roaring down the street at him. It was on a collision course, slurs from the Bowers gang ringing in Richie's ears as he ran out after Eddie, Mike shouting and grabbing at his shoulders.

“Someone's got him! Careful!” 

The car blasted past them, Richie realizing that if Mike hadn't been there to hold him back, he'd be roadkill. And true to Mike’s word someone did have Eddie, a man on the other side of the street having picked him up and out of danger, lifting him like a sack of potatoes and running out of the way. The man had the hood up on his jacket and a pair of long pants on, his face angled down. Then he looked up to grin Richie’s way before darting off, a noticeable limp in his gait. His face was streaked with dirty white face paint. 

“Fuck!” Richie jumped back into motion, Mike right at his heels. He couldn’t believe he’d let this happen again, that again the clown had Eddie and again Richie was chasing him. But the other three across the street had already caught onto what was happening and also jumped into motion, giving pursuit down an alley. There was a hand over Eddie’s mouth and nose but he was still squirming and struggling, a kick to the clown’s injured leg causing him to stumble. Then Stan stooped and picked up a metal pipe from a pile of scraps to be taken with the garbage, hitting the clown in the back of the knees. The man crashed to the ground, dropping Eddie as he fell. He scrambled up just as fast but Richie didn’t care about him anymore, kneeling next to Eddie on the asphalt.

“Fuck Eds, are you o--”

“I’m fine.” Eddie said quickly. And maybe he was physically, but his eyes were blown wide with fear, his limbs shaking with adrenaline. “Did… Did I just almost get kidnapped?”

“Something like that, yeah.” Mike said after a moment. To Richie’s surprise, none of them had pursued Pennywise, the entire group crowded around Eddie instead. Eddie held up a hand, and Ben helped him to his feet. He was just looking around, his eyes still a little frantic, flinching when Bill touched his arm. 

“Eddie?” Bill asked hesitantly, and Eddie properly looked at him, then stepped closer and Bill pulled him in for a hug.

“Do you want to go back home?” Richie asked. Eddie shook his head against Bill's chest. 

“No, my mom'll be mad. I don't want to deal with that right now.” He stepped back and looked a bit calmer, glancing around at all of them. “Thanks for not letting him get me.”

“He tried to get me too.” Stan said. “Yesterday.” He let the metal pipe go and it fell to the ground with a heavy clanging sound. “He came into my house last night, when my parents were out. I hid until he left.”

“Holy shit, Stan.” Richie said. Stan glanced at him, shrugging a little. 

“So I spent the night at Bill's, and I'm doing it again.”

That explained his bag, and Eddie looked up at Bill.

“Could I do that too?” He asked.

“Yeah, but w-w-will your mom let you?” 

“No, but I don't care.” 

Richie found himself grinning at that.

“Big sleepover at Big Bill's?” He proposed, looking around at them all. “It'll be fun. It'll be good to have some fun.” 

Both Mike and Ben looked over at Bill, because really it wasn't Richie's decision to invite people to someone else's house, but Richie had known Bill long enough to know that he wouldn't have a problem with it. Sure enough, Bill nodded.

“S-sure. You're all invited.” 

Ever polite, both Mike and Ben thanked him before going separate ways to get what they would need to spend the night. When Eddie realized he didn't have any of that stuff either, he began to fret.

“I don't have my meds, or my toothbrush, or a change of clothes… I'm gonna be grounded for at least two weeks the second I go back home, though. I wouldn't be allowed out. But I can't not take my medication, I just…” 

“I'll get it for you!” Richie offered quickly. “I know where you keep all that stuff. I'll grab whatever you need.” 

Eddie smiled at him, but Bill still looked troubled.

“How can you sleep over without telling her? She'll t-tear up t-the neighborhood looking for you if you don't come home.”

That was true. Eddie sighed.

“I'll just call her when we get to your house and see how well begging really works. If it doesn't she'll just pick me up, I guess.” 

They split ways at the road leading out of town, Stan, Bill, and Eddie going to Bill's while Richie walked back to Eddie's house. It was simple to get into Eddie's room, finding a canvas bag and stuffing a clean outfit in. Under other circumstances Richie would have had a lot of fun with being in control of Eddie's next outfit but this wasn't the time, instead simply grabbing something that looked comfortable. 

He was making his way down the hall to Eddie's bathroom when the downstairs telephone rang. Richie held his breath as Sonia Kaspbrak got up to answer it. 

“Eddie?!” It was apparent by her voice that she hadn't yet found out that her son wasn't tucked away in his room like he was supposed to be. “Where are you?” 

Richie winced, continuing on to the bathroom. It sounded like Mrs. K was yelling, actually, full-on yelling, which was something she never, ever did. 

“Sweetie. If you're unhappy, we can just put you on some antidepressants.” 

A long silence followed, Richie listening closely, wishing he could hear Eddie's side of the conversation. The last thing Eddie needed was more pills; Richie wasn't sure he'd be able to get down the trellis stealthily enough with the amount of rattling all of Eddie's medication would doubtlessly be doing. He opened the medicine cabinet in the bathroom to find that Eddie needed refills for nearly everything in his daily pill case, cursing under his breath. His mother refilled the box weekly, and it was time for her to do it again. He'd just have to go to Mrs. Kaspbrak’s bathroom, swipe a bunch of stuff, and hope Eddie knew which was which. 

He made it to her bathroom easily enough; she was still extremely preoccupied with her phone conversation. Her voice had simmered down to a quiet, sickly-sweet sort of rage that made Richie's stomach turn. 

Sonia's bathroom was surprisingly less than spotless, but Richie tried not to think about it, opening the cabinet on the wall next to the sink. Eddie's medications were all on a shelf of their own, all of the boxes and bottles carrying two stickers. One was standard and white, with Eddie's name and dosage instructions on it. The other was a bright red rectangle, with nothing on it but “PLACEBO” written in large white lettering. 

He stared at the word, and the word seemed to stare back. It felt like a bizarre conspiracy, but the evidence was there, right in front of him; placebos. Eddie's medications were all fake. Even a box with an extra asthma inhaler had a placebo sticker on it. Richie searched through all of the bottles, only finding one without the sticker, and it turned out to be the painkillers for his arm. He stuffed those in his canvas bag, feeling conflicted as he looked over the rest of the pills. Eddie didn't need them, so Richie didn't want to take them. But still, Eddie deserved to know the truth. Richie grabbed the fake inhaler and a box with some of those red and white pills that he recognized and put those in the bag too, wrapping everything with a sweatshirt to keep the rattling to a minimum. Then he closed the cabinet, walking back out into the hallway.

Mrs. K was still on phone, but the conversation seemed to be wrapping up.

“Fine. But Mrs. Denbrough needs to be aware that I will be there at six to pick you up tomorrow morning, and that's when you'd better be ready to go.” 

Then she hung up, and Richie hurried back to Eddie's room. He was back outside in no time, the overnight bag over his shoulder, dashing off to Bill's. Mike and Ben were already there by the time he arrived, and everyone was smiling. 

“Mike brought s-some stuff, we're going t-t-to make dinner.” Bill explained as he let Richie inside, leading him to the kitchen.

“Oh, so we're burning your house down. Fun!” Richie called out a greeting and waved at everyone, Eddie hurrying over and taking the bag from his hands to search through what he'd brought. He noticed the lack of his regular medicine and looked up in silent question, confused. Richie took his arm to pull him aside, speaking quietly as Bill went to rejoin Stan, Mike, and Ben by the sink. 

“I need to talk to you.” 

“Is it about something bad?” Eddie asked, equally quietly. Richie chewed his lip for a moment, thinking.

“Kind of, yeah.”

“Then can it wait?” 

Richie was all too familiar with how Eddie must be feeling, desperate looking for any sort of escapism, and nodded, kissing his forehead. 

“Yeah. Of course.” 

Stan let out a loud, giggly sort of laugh, the both of them looking over to see him armed with the kitchen soap while Mike had his thumb over the faucet, aiming the water flow and getting Stan's shirt soaking wet. Both Ben and Bill had jumped back, out of the splash zone.

“No!” Eddie exclaimed, hurrying forward, letting his hand trail down Richie's arm as he stalked towards the commotion. “Stop it! I told you guys to wash your hands!” 

Richie laughed, going over to throw Eddie's bag on Bill's couch. Bill approached him, a cautious look in his eyes. 

“Hey, Richie…” He looked at him for a moment before his gaze went straight to his feet. “I shouldn’t h-have pushed you. Or p-p-punched you. I’m sorry.” 

Richie considered him for a moment, and in his silence Bill glanced back up. To his credit, he really did seem very sorry about it, chewing on his bottom lip, his eyebrows drawing together. Richie sighed.

“I’ve gotta say, I'm not really sorry for pushing you, Bill. But that’s only because it didn’t seem to do anything. You’re like a brick wall.” He chuckled, Bill giving him the slightest of smiles back. “But I did say some stuff, some stuff that I really didn’t mean, and… I’m sorry too.” 

Bill pressed his lips together into a thin line, swallowing harshly. He looked upset, as though upon getting the forgiveness he’d sought after, he felt he didn’t deserve it. Richie stuck out a hand.

“Are we good?” He asked, making eye contact with Bill and holding his gaze. Bill stared at him for just a moment more before stepping forwards, disregarding the proposed handshake completely and pulling Richie in for a crushing hug. Richie couldn’t help his laugh of surprise, wrapping his arms around Bill too and giving him a squeeze.

“You guys are being really cute over there and everything but we’ve got a situation!” Mike called to them, and they both looked over. “Situation” was one way of putting it; Eddie was chasing both Stan and Ben around the kitchen with a rather aggressive-looking egg beater. Richie went weak-kneed in laughter, Bill disentangling himself in an attempt to do some damage control. 

Eventually, after a dry shirt for Stan and a lot of direction from Mike, dinner was underway. There was meat in a pan, pasta in a pot, and a mound of steamed broccoli when they were finished, Richie helping Ben set the table. To Richie’s pleasant surprise, the food they managed to make together was actually really good. But Mike had orchestrated the whole thing, and as he currently held the record for the maker of the best soup Richie had ever had, he figured he shouldn’t have expected any less.

They all inhaled their food, Richie finishing up a third helping as Stan, Mike, Bill, and Ben all carried their dishes back into the kitchen. Eddie stood up to do the same, but Richie stopped him.

“You can stay the night, then? How did the phone call with your mom go? What did you tell her?”

“I…” Eddie shrugged. “The truth, kind of. I told her that keeping me inside was making me unhappy. It almost backfired, but I managed to keep her from getting me on antidepressants, so that’s good. I told her that a sleepover would make me happy, then I asked her if she wanted me to be happy or not. I feel a little bad about guilt-tripping her, but it worked.”

Richie considered that, scratching his chin.

“Do you think that’ll work when she finds out about us?” 

“...when?” Eddie echoed after a moment. Richie blinked at him.

“Would you rather it be ‘if’?” He asked back, and Eddie sighed.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry Richie, I just… I did come out to her once, you know. She pretends it never happened. Asks me about girls all the time. Besides,” he gave Richie a little grin. “I think finding out that I picked you out of the entire male population might give her a heart attack.” 

Richie nodded a little. They didn’t need to talk about this right now, he supposed, winking at Eddie instead as he got to his feet. 

“I tend to have that effect on people.” 

To his great surprise, Eddie reached up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I know. Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

Richie was powerless against the blush rising up his face.

“That just isn’t fair.” He protested weakly, turning to the door to see a red-faced Ben Hanscom standing in the doorway. 

“Hi there, Ben. Benny. Bean Burrito.” Richie was rambling a little, caught off guard, and Eddie looked close to mortified.

“...hi.” Ben finally said, ducking past them to get to the living room. They were silent for a moment.

“Well. I guess he knows now.” Eddie remarked, and Richie laughed.

“Wanna just tell everyone tonight?” He asked. The idea excited him, his spontaneity seeming to surprise Eddie a little. “Bev already knows. And Stan knows I like you.” 

“Oh. I guess so, then. Sure.” 

Richie beamed, leading the way back into the kitchen. Mike was in the middle of washing their dinner dishes but Richie wrestled the sponge from his hands, insisting that he had done enough already and to let himself and Bill do the washing up instead. That nearly escalated into a water fight as well, and by the time everything was cleaned, dried, and put away it was well past eight o’clock. They all sat around in the living room, waiting for it to hit 9:00.

“Your parents really don’t mind all of us being here?” Ben asked. He looked concerned, but Bill shook his head. 

“My dad said it’s okay as long as we clean up after ourselves, and my m-m-mom… She’s just in bed a lot these days. W-we probably won’t even see her.”

The second hand on the wall clock ticked, turning 8:59 to 9:00, and instantly the telephone rang. All six of them jumped up, sliding on sock-clad feet to make it to the phone. Richie picked up the receiver, leaning against the doorframe. He stood on one foot, crossing the other so only his toes touched the floor, adjusting his coke-bottle glasses unnecessarily. He gave Eddie a smile. 

“Hello? Zachary Denbrough here. Oh, well good evening Mrs. Kaspbrak.” Of all of the terrible voices Richie made and the horrible impressions he couldn't really do, he had one good one: Bill’s dad, Mr. Denbrough. Or rather, Mr. Denbrough over the phone; they’d never had to try it out in person. Sleepovers had a slim-to-none chance of being approved if Mrs. K knew Richie was going to be there, so when she called at nine p.m. sharp to ask who it was that the Denbroughs were letting sleep in the same house as her son, they lied. Richie told her that he wasn’t there, sympathizing about how terrible of a child he was. He quite enjoyed it, actually. It was fun.

“Hello.” Mrs. Kaspbrak responded haughtily. “Is Eddie there?”

Richie wiggled his eyebrows, looking pointedly at Eddie. 

“Yes, Eddie made it here. He’s been here a couple of hours now, with Bill and Stan, and a lovely friend the boys made while at the library named Benjamin.”

“I’m sorry, who?” Her voice got dangerous, and Richie winced. He should have kept it to the usual crowd. All eyes turned to look at Ben, who’d begun to blush.

“Oh, Ben? I’ve heard all sorts of things about him from my boy.” Nervous, Richie was getting little heavy on the nasally tone that was faint, but ever present in Mr. Denbrough’s voice. Stan pointed to his nose, Richie nodding in understanding as he adjusted. “A real stand-up citizen, trust me. He got top marks in the English class they had together.”

Ben’s face was definitely red now, Bill putting a hand on his shoulder with a grin.

“...fine. I’ll have to ask him about that. What about Richard Tozier?”

“Richard? Why would that hooligan be in my house?” Richie’s face took up an expression of pure horror. Mrs. K couldn’t see his face but Eddie sure could, and Richie wanted to make him laugh. It worked; Eddie giggled behind his hands. “No, no. Ever since you told me what color that vomit was on your flowers, I’ve made sure he stayed clear of my front lawn.”

Mike looked both confused and vaguely horrified, Stan offering an expression that was supposed to mean “we’ll tell you later”. It was hard to tell if Mike understood the sentiment.

“Good.” Sonia sounded rather miffed. “I’d rather Eddie keep away from him.”

“Yes, well, we can only control so much of our children’s lives, you know.” Richie’s voice was attempting to imply years of wisdom beyond his age, but with a mental age of seven, he didn’t end up sounding all that astute. “One more year of that rowdy child, then our own will be off to college and won’t have to deal with him anymore.”

Bill began to tap his foot. It was unusual for Mrs. K’s calls to take this long. She seemed in a chatty mood though, continuing to talk.

“College, yes… Where is William going to school?”

“Bill? Where he’s going to school? Oh, uh… The University of…” Richie caught Bill’s eye, desperate, but Bill just shrugged back helplessly. “University of North Edward College. He’s studying…” Another painfully long pause; Richie’s mind was blank. His next words came out in a rushed, uncharacteristic squeak. “Squirrels. Must be off now!”

Richie hung up, and the group collapsed into laughter. 

“University of North Edward College?” Stan asked, incredulous. “What does that even mean? And squirrels, really? Literally anything you could have said would have been better than squirrels.”

“I couldn’t help it!” Richie exclaimed. “My default response to ‘what are you majoring in’ is ‘Eddie’s Mom’, but I couldn’t say that to her!” He stepped forward, slinging an arm around Stan’s shoulders. “But I saw your face, and was struck with a squirrely inspiration.” 

Stan rolled his eyes. “Go fuck yourself, Tozier.”

“Would love to, but I’m not quite flexible enough.” 

Stan made a face, shoving Richie off him. The group made to go to Bill's room, but Richie hung back by the phone. 

“Coming?” Bill asked. Richie waved a hand. 

“There's one more call I want to make. I'll catch up with you.” 

He knew it was cryptic but nobody pressed him for an explanation so he didn't give one, dialing Beverly's number. She deserved to be here too. 

“Hello?”

“Bev?”

“Yeah, it's me.” She paused. “Which of my wonderful teenage boys am I talking to?”

Richie laughed. “You wound me. It's Richie! We're having a sleepover at Bill's, and I wanted to know if you can make it.” 

She was silent for a good while.

“Am I invited?” She asked after a moment.

“You'd have to climb in through Bill's bedroom window, if that's what you mean.” He answered. “But we'd all love to see you.” 

She was quiet again. 

“I'd have to wait for my dad to go to sleep, and he's not even home from work yet.” 

“It's no rush. You don't even have to show up if you don't think you can. I just wanted to let you know.”

“Thanks Richie.” There was a smile in her voice. “I'll see what I can do. But don't wait up for me, okay?” 

“Whatever you say, buttercup.” 

“Shut up.”

He laughed, saying his farewells and hanging up. He got up the stairs just in time to hear Eddie's watch going off for his evening medications, Eddie excusing himself with his overnight bag over his shoulder and nearly running into Richie outside Bill's bedroom door. He thrust the bag into Richie's hands.

“Tell me what's going on.” He requested. Richie twisted his fingers up in the bag’s straps, suddenly nervous. 

“Should we go downstairs for this? Or… You should at least sit down.”

“Just tell me! You're freaking me out.” Eddie exclaimed. Richie reached around him and closed Bill’s bedroom door, just in case. Then he pulled the bottle of painkillers out and handed them over. He had to take a deep breath before he could speak.

“This is the only medication in your mom's cabinet that's actually helping you.”

Eddie frowned at him.

“Richie, what are you talking about? These are temporary; they're my painkillers for this thing.” He lifted his cast arm up. Richie nodded. 

“I know. Everything else in your mom's medicine cabinet looks like this.” 

He pulled the other bottle out, placing it in Eddie's hands. The placebo sticker was facing up, bright red, and Eddie stared at it.

“Placebo…?”

“It means the drugs are fakes. They don't do anything.”

“I know what placebo means!” Eddie snapped, and while Richie knew the harshness wasn't truly directed towards him, it still made him take a step back. “Just… You said all of them were like this? All of them? Even--?”

Richie pulled the inhaler box out too, and Eddie snatched it from his hands. He opened it and looked at the inhaler inside, identical to the one he always carried with him. 

“How?” He asked, and Richie didn't know what to say. “How did--since--when did she… I  _ don’t _ \--” 

“Eddie! Eds. Breathe.” Eddie was taking gasping inhales and heavy exhales with every word, his chest heaving. He gripped tightly to the front of Richie's shirt, bringing the inhaler to his mouth. It took a little but Eddie brought his breathing under control again, Richie rubbing circles on his back. 

“You okay, Spaghetti Man?”

“It worked.” Eddie said after a moment. He held the inhaler a bit tighter. “If it's a fake, how come it worked?”

“Isn't that the point of a placebo, though?” Richie pointed out. “To make you think it worked? Even if you don't have asthma, right?” 

“What are you talking about? Asthma attacks--”

“That's the thing though, Eds.” Richie cut him off, and Eddie looked a little angry. “What just happened to you, and all the other asthma attacks you've had in the past… I get those too. They're called panic attacks.”

“Of course I'm fucking panicking! How could I not be fucking panicking?” 

Richie pulled him in for a hug, letting his chin rest on the top of Eddie's head for a moment.

“I can't not take my medication, Richie.” Eddie mumbled softly into his shirt. “I just can't.”

“If you really need me to, I'll go back to your house and get everything else.” Richie said. He wasn't sure how he would slip past Mrs. Kaspbrak, but he would try. “But for now, just take these,” he pressed the painkillers into Eddie's hand, “and these, if that makes you feel better,” he traded out the inhaler for the red and white fakes, “and just try not to think about it. Okay?” 

“...okay.” Eddie finally said. He turned the bottle of placebos over in his hand. He let his eyes fall closed for a moment. “Thanks for telling me, Richie. I'm… I'm glad I know, at least.” 

Richie returned with a smile that he hoped was comforting, surprised to find that he was relieved that Eddie believed him. He got Eddie a glass of water, noticing with pride that he only swallowed down one pill, putting an arm around his shoulders in front of Bill's closed door. 

“Alright, Eds Spagheds. You ready to go back in there?”

Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Don't be dumb, Richie.”

Richie could tell that at least some of the brazen attitude was an act so he stepped into Bill's room grandly, throwing open the door and striding in with his hands on his hips, garnering everyone’s attention while Eddie slipped inside quietly.

“William Billiam! I require soft sleeping pants!”

“Okay, but I'm getting you a s-s-shirt, too.” Bill said dryly, but he was smiling. “And you're going to w-wear it.”

Richie made a show of complaining, lamenting that “what is a shirt, if not a cotton prison”, but thanked Bill when the sleepwear was handed over and changed quickly. They arranged themselves comfortably around Bill's room, conversation beginning easily. They talked about family first, mostly because Ben wanted to know if Richie actually had a sister, or if his mother was actually dead. The answer to both of those was no, but it was still pretty funny. 

Whenever a natural lull fell around them Richie wanted to spill the beans about himself and Eddie, because Eddie just looked much too cute in an oversized hoodie and tucked under his arm. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure how. A couple times he considered pulling the “guess who has two thumbs and is dating the cutest person in the world” line, but he didn’t just want to spring the announcement on Eddie as well as everyone else, considering all he’d been through today. He wanted the conversation to naturally just flow that way, but he was having a hard time trying to steer it. Finally, he managed to stick his foot in.

“Hey Ben, do you remember that question I asked you about Beverly the other day?” 

Ben blushed red, but before he could say anything a muffled voice came from somewhere outside Bill’s room.

“Are you guys talking about me?” 

There was a sharp tap on Bill’s bedroom window and Stan jumped, letting out a yell in surprise.

“Bev!” Richie exclaimed in excitement, Bill getting quickly to his feet to let her in. He opened the window and Beverly tumbled in from the tree outside Bill’s window, laughing a little. She brushed a couple of leaves off her clothes, grinning, everyone except Richie looking stunned to see her. 

“Y-y-you, w-w-w-w-w-we… What?” Bill stammered out, and Beverly giggled. 

“I called her! I invited her.” Richie said, Beverly sending him a wink. “It wouldn’t be a group sleepover without her.”

“Hi.” Beverly finally said, waving, getting waves back as she sat herself down happily next to Ben. Everyone was still staring at her, and she laughed.

“What Bill, never had a girl in your room before?” 

Richie could've sworn all of them blushed. Maybe except Ben, but that was because he hadn't yet stopped blushing from Richie's question earlier. 

“I'm glad you managed to escape.” Richie said. Beverly looked a little guilty, nodding.

“My dad said he wanted a drink when he got home, so I crushed up a sleeping pill in his beer.” She confessed. They all gaped at her.

“Isn't mixing alcohol and soporific drugs like… Super fucking dangerous?” Eddie asked hesitantly. “Couldn't that kill him, or something?” 

Beverly looked hilariously unconcerned.

“Sleeping pills and stuff have never really had that much of an effect on him.” She said with a shrug, Richie wondering how it was she knew that. “I'm sure he'll be fine. What are you guys up to?”

“We ate dinner, and now we're just hanging out.” Mike said with a shrug. “Are you hungry, Beverly? There's food left.”

Beverly considered it for a moment before nodding.

“Sure, I could eat. Thanks.” 

Mike got to his feet with Bill and Ben following behind, Bill looking like he was trying hard to be a good host, Ben looking a bit disappointed that he hadn't thought of offering the food first. Beverly reached over, ruffling Stan's hair.

“You okay?” She asked him. He shrugged.

“Been better.” 

“Yeah, I can tell. You look weird.”

He snorted. “Thanks.”

“Eddie looks weird too.” Beverly said, turning her attention to Eddie now. “Did something happen today?”

“A lot has happened today.” Eddie said with a nod. “The clown...”

“You guys saw him?” Beverly asked. “When? What happened?” 

“We should talk about it with everyone.” Stan said. “But… I saw him yesterday, and all of us saw him today.”

“I did a little more than see him.” Eddie mumbled, and Richie suddenly felt guilty. He'd been completely useless, powerless to stop any of the terrible things Eddie had gone through in the past week. He wanted to be better. He needed to be better than that.

“I'm sorry.” He said quietly. Eddie looked up at him. 

“Sorry? Sorry for what?” 

“I haven't been able to do anything.” He explained. “Not in the Neibolt house, not earlier today… Hell, it was even my idea to go outside today, if I hadn't suggested it then--”

“If you hadn't suggested it, then I'd be in bed getting pills shoved down my throat by my psychotic mother.” Eddie interrupted. Richie frowned.

“Yeah, but--”

“No.” Eddie cut him off, taking both of Richie's hands with his own. “I would have been completely miserable, but instead I'm here with all of my friends. I have you to thank for that. You’re the one that’s keeping me from completely losing my fucking mind.” 

Richie smiled a little, in spite of himself.

“God damn Eddie, could you please just let me blame myself for this?” 

“Not a chance, Tozier.” Eddie had a small smile playing on his lips too and Richie decided fuck it, he didn’t care about an audience, leaning in and kissing him. Bev and Stan already knew anyways, to some extent. He realized though, once Eddie's lips touched his, that it wouldn't have mattered much if they knew already or not, because this was so, incredibly worth it.

There was the heavy thunk of glass hitting carpet behind them and Richie and Eddie both turned to see the rest of the group in the doorway, Bill standing front and center and letting the water from the cup he'd just dropped seep into his socks and the carpet below. He looked stunned.

“W-w-w-w-w-wh…?” 

“Okay Bill, I'm sorry, but you're going to have to do a little better than that.” Richie told him, because he was suddenly nervous about what Bill might say, or do. He tried to remember Stan’s words about how worrying was stupid, and the rational part of him knew that Stan was right, but that rational part was very, very small, especially in the face of something as terrifying as possibly losing a best friend. 

“I-I-I-I-I…” Bill stammered a bit more. “...what?”

That wasn’t much, but it was something.

“I like Eddie.” Richie explained. Eddie hit him in the arm. “A lot.” He tacked on.

Eddie hit him again.

“What?” Richie asked indignantly.

“I don’t know!” Eddie replied. “Just…” He gestured at Bill. 

“He might be broken.” Richie said gravely, just to have Eddie hit him again.

“So Eddie is the one you asked me about?” Mike cut in. He slipped in the room past Bill, holding Beverly’s plate of food. He handed it to her, Ben entering after him and giving her silverware. “I mean, I kind of figured.”

“You asked about me?” Eddie asked, surprised. 

“I… Well--”

“He told me he thought he might be in love with someone, and asked me what he should do about it.” Mike interjected, Richie turning on him. 

“Hey!” He protested. “That was a private conversation!”

“No it wasn’t.” Stan said. He was inspecting his fingernails rather closely. “I heard the whole thing.” 

“Both of you suck.” Richie said, crossing his arms.

“L-l-love?” Bill croaked out.

“We did break him.” Eddie muttered.

“Come on you two, tell us everything!” Beverly requested, and Richie balked. When he’d said he wanted to tell everyone, he was thinking of it in more of an announcement fashion: “Everyone, could I have your attention please. I am super gay for Eddie Kaspbrak. This has been a PSA.” He wasn’t prepared for any storytelling. But, he figured, the “show” part of “show and tell” was his fault, and he took a deep breath. 

“Well, I talked to Mike. Then I talked to Ben, because he’s such a romantic.”

“I am?” Ben asked.

“And the day I told Stan was the day I was sure about it.” God, why was he blushing so much? “So I figured I would just wait for the right time, or something. But then we went to Neibolt and got attacked by Giggles McFuckface and I kinda figured that any time that we weren’t dead was the right time. So I told him that I liked him, or whatever.”

“Eddie, please tell me he said more than ‘I like you, or whatever’.” Stan said seriously. “You’re worth more than that.”

“He did.” Eddie said quickly. “It… It was really nice, actually.” 

“Yeah, because you kissed me. Damn near knocked the wind out of me, you know.” Richie replaced his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, grinning. “And then I kissed you, and you said it was the best kiss you ever had.”

“Sounds fake, but okay.” Stan muttered dryly.

“No! Tell ‘em, Eds.” Richie nudged him, delighting how red Eddie’s face had become.

“Don’t call me that.” Eddie grumbled back.

“Stop embarrassing him.” Beverly protested, because Eddie was blushing harder the longer Richie talked. “You’re just as bad as he is, if not worse.”

“Hey, I just want everyone to know how great of a kisser I am, now that I have evidence to prove it. We've spent the past few days in Eddie's bedroom doing--”

“You cried when he told you he loved you.” Beverly said, crossing her arms in triumph. Richie’s mouth fell open.

“You said you wouldn’t tell anyone about that!”

“Beverly, you knew?” Ben asked. “When did you guys talk to each other?”

“Midnight ragers.” Richie said quickly. “She’s been eating all of my Cheetos.”

“...is that a euphemism or something?” Mike asked, as Bill finally seemed to get over himself, coming into the room again and sitting on the floor. 

“I’m happy for you guys.” He said earnestly, and when Richie glanced over he saw Eddie beaming.

“Thanks.”

“So, now that all of my secrets have been spilled, what do we want to talk about?” Richie asked with a sigh. “Anyone want to hear about the time I ate hot glue in fifth grade? I was going to take that secret to the grave with me, but I’m coming to realize there’s no point in trying.”

“I want to hear about what happened today.” Beverly said. “About Pennywise, and all that.” 

Ben nodded in agreement.

“Something happened to you, right Stan?” He asked. Stan nodded a little, launching into the tale. The retelling of the events made him visibly uncomfortable, curling in on himself as he spoke. Mike put a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“And then he left me a balloon, which was just incredibly thoughtful.” Stan finished, sarcasm heavy in his voice. “I called Bill, and he came to pick me up.”

“I would hate to think I scared all the little boys away?” Beverly asked, repeating what Stan told them Pennywise had said. “What does that mean?” 

Stan shrugged. 

“He t-t-tried to take Eddie too.” Bill said. “Eddie was crossing t-the street when B-B-Bowers came at him with his c-car. Pennywise grabbed him out of the w-way, but t-then tried to run off. W-w-we stopped him, but…”

“He tried to do this in broad daylight?” 

“Well, who wouldn’t try to steal Eddie?” Richie asked. “I mean, look at him!” 

What Richie didn’t expect was for the entire group to actually look over at Eddie, who suddenly seemed very self conscious in his striped athletic socks, grey shorts, and big green hoodie. 

“Yeah.” Mike said after a moment. “He’s small.”

“Not what I meant.” 

“No, it makes sense. He's small.” Ben agreed. “If you're going to kidnap someone in the middle of the day, with witnesses and stuff, they have to be easy to carry.” 

“Well, I'm not easy to carry.” Eddie said. “I kicked him in the leg.” 

Beverly held her hand up for a high five, and Eddie took it. 

“Okay, but why?” Bill asked. “If he w-wants to make s-s-someone disappear, why not someone easier? Someone y-younger, or something?”

Richie thought back, still distracted by what the clown had said while going through Stan’s house. He couldn’t take Ben, he couldn’t take Mike, and he couldn’t take Bill because Bill was the one he needed. 

“He’s setting you a trap, Bill.”

“He w-w-wants to kidnap one of you to… To what? To g-get to me?”

“It would work.” Mike pointed out.

“But he already h-has my brother.”

“But he thinks he scared us away.” Beverly finished, nodding a little. Richie felt slightly sick.

“Why me?” Bill asked. It was quiet for a long moment, then Stan spoke.

“Because you’re the only one looking for him. You’re the only one, maybe ever, and you keep getting closer. Hell, Bill, you’ve been inside his house four times. And he doesn’t like it.”

“S-so… He’s trying to kill me?”

Mike sat back in Bill’s desk chair with a sigh.

“It wouldn’t exactly be out of character.” 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time for the shit to hit the fan!! I apologize in advance for cheesy villain dialogue

Beverly was roughly shaken awake. She sat up blearily, looking around, startled when Richie grabbed her shoulders.

“We need to hide.” He said, and that was all he said before yanking her to her feet and shoving her in the direction of Bill’s closet. Eddie was already awake too, his things collected in a canvas bag over his shoulder. She watched as Richie gave him a quick kiss before following after her to Bill’s closet and closing the door.

“What time is it?” She asked, her voice hushed.

“Two minutes after six.”

“And why are we hiding?” 

Richie simply put a finger to his lips, and then Beverly heard it. Heavy footsteps up the stairs. Bill’s door banged open.

“Are you ready to go?”

It was a gruff female voice that Beverly didn’t recognize.

“Yes Mommy.”

Was that… Eddie? He sounded almost like a little boy, his voice placating to a disturbing degree. It didn’t seem to have much of an effect on the woman, however.

“Good. I am very, very disappointed in you Eddie.” Next to her, Richie clenched his fists. This had to be Mrs. Kaspbrak, and if she hated Richie, then the feeling seemed mutual. “We’re going home, and you’re staying there.”

Eddie said something else, but Beverly didn’t hear it. The word ‘home’ was ringing in her ears, fear washing over her body, the dread sudden and shocking and cold, as though bucket of ice water had just been dumped on her head. Home. She’d meant to go home last night. 

The bedroom door closed, and Richie turned to her with a grin. He kept his voice low, as not to wake the others.

“Nice job. Also, may I say, you and Ben looked rather cozy.”

“What?” Ben’s name distracted her for a moment. She remembered lying down next to him, talking quietly after everyone else had gone to sleep. He’d complimented a ring she was wearing. They’d compared hand sizes. She’d held his hand. After he’d jumped in between her and the clown at the Neibolt house, the sight of him had made her feel safe. But he couldn’t help her now.

“Richie, my dad is bound to be awake by now. He’s going to know I was gone. He’s going to know what I did. He’s… If I go home, he’ll…”

“Then don’t go home.” Richie said instantly. “Pretend you’ve gone missing. Live with me; hide in my house.”

“I can’t do that.” 

“Give me your dress. I’ll pretend to be you, and when he gets too close I’ll kick his ass.”

Both of the ideas had been said like jokes, but there was a small spark in Richie’s eye that told Beverly that if she genuinely wanted to go with one of those offers, he would wholeheartedly follow through. She wasn’t sure when she and Richie had gotten so close that he would do this for her, realizing a moment later that it was because they were friends. This was what the Loser’s Club did for their friends.

“No, he would kill you.” She said, and it wasn’t an exaggeration. “I just need to go home. I’ll handle it.” 

“Beverly--” 

“It’ll be fine.” She already knew it wouldn’t be. Richie could tell she was lying, but he was also coming to realize that she wasn’t going to let him help her.

“Fine.” He finally said. “Remember what we agreed on last night. Three o’clock, Bill’s front yard. All of us except for Eddie will be there. And you need to come too, so we know you’re okay.” 

“I will.” 

He helped her through Bill’s window and down the tree, and she started towards home at a run. She tried to get her brain to settle enough to try and think of a something she could tell him, some excuse she could use for being awake so early. She resolved, at least, that she would sneak back in through the bathroom window; that could buy her some time.

The plan was dashed as soon as her house came into view. Her father was standing in the front yard, his arms crossed, his eyes blazing. She slowed as she noticed him, but it was too late to do much more than walk up. He grabbed her roughly by the forearm, dragging her inside. 

“Where were you?” He asked. He kept his voice low, despite now being inside the house with the front door closed and locked. “Where have you been all night?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. The grip around her arm was starting to hurt badly, but she didn't try to pull away.

“I know where you were.” Her father snarled, not in the mood for waiting. “You were with those boys.” 

“What?” Beverly couldn't hide her surprise, and at her reaction he gave her a sardonic grin. 

“I got a phone call from a concerned mother a couple of days ago. She said her son had gotten hurt and ended up in the hospital because he was hanging out with a group of rowdy boys. All of them boys… Except you. The only girl in the pack.” 

“They're just friends, I swear.” 

His grip tightened, and it was all the had to keep from crying out.

“I know what's in a boys’ minds when they look at you, Bevvy. I know it all too well.”

“My arm.” She murmured, but he completely ignored her protest, leaning in close. Rage seemed to roll off of him in waves.

“Are you doing womanly things down in the woods with those boys?” 

“No, no, nothing like that. You don't have to worry, I promise.” All she wanted was for him to let go of her. With his free hand he reached around, pulling something out of his back pocket; the postcard. Her heart sank. She'd forgotten to move it from her room after she'd spent the night at Richie's. 

“What’s this?”

“Nothing, just a poem.” 

“Just a poem? That you were hiding in your underwear drawer?” He closed his fingers into a fist, the postcard crumpling into a ball. “Why would you have to hide it there?”

She watched the ruined love letter fall to the ground, a lump growing in her throat. 

“Bevvy. Are you still my little girl?” 

At the sound of those words, Beverly knew how this would end. But that wasn't what she wanted, and it wasn't fair; she didn't deserve this. Fury welled up in her chest until the felt ready to scream, and she met her father's eyes.

“No.” 

“What did you say?”

His voice was dangerously quiet and slow, as though giving her time to fix her indiscretion. Beverly gritted her teeth.

“I said no!” She used her entire body weight to wrench herself free of him, losing her footing as she scrambled away. She crashed to her knees and he followed after her, grabbing her ankles and pulling, and she fell all the way to the floor. He turned her onto her back and gripped her legs, trying to pull them apart, but she twisted one of her feet free and kicked him as hard as she could in the groin. His grip loosened and she jumped to her feet, rushing for the bathroom. 

Her first thought was to escape through the window, but once she did, then what? She couldn't come back to this house, and her father would try and hunt her down. Her closest living relative was her mom’s sister over in Portland, and Beverly hadn't seen her in years. 

She heard her father's angry footsteps down the hallway and knew she was out of time, critical thinking coming to a stop, letting her body take over. She took the tank cover off of the toilet and lept into the bathtub, letting the shower curtain hide her. 

Alvin Marsh entered the bathroom slowly. Beverly heard a strange, knowing sort of chuckle as he approached the shower curtain, his fingers curling around the edge. Then he pulled it back and she acted on instinct, swinging out at him as hard as she could. 

She heard something crack, but she couldn't see what. Her father fell like a rock, and she let the tank lid fall as well, the porcelain splitting in half as it hit the floor. She didn't know if he could get back up but didn't wait to find out, dashing through the door and running out into the hallway. She would go to Richie's, whether he was there or not. She would go to Richie's, and figure out what to do next once she stopped shaking. 

The front door was hanging open, the lock and doorknob both busted and useless. She didn't stop to think about what that meant though, almost through the doorway when a gloved hand closed around her neck, yanking her backwards. She wheezed and clutched at her throat but it did no good; the wall came at her hard and fast, and everything went black.

 

 

 

Eddie pulled his gaze from out the window and back to his disgruntled mother, who was sitting at the kitchen table and doing nothing in particular. The drive home from Bill's had been awkward and tense; the only speaking had been his mom asking who the black boy in Bill's room was. The answer was short, didn’t lead to further conversation, and they hadn’t talked since.

Mrs. Kaspbrak suddenly got to her feet, pacing the length of the kitchen before turning to him, her hands on her hips.

“Why are you being difficult?” 

“Difficult?” He asked back. “I'm just sitting here. What's so difficult about that?” 

For a moment, she didn't react. Then she gave him a smile that Eddie knew wasn't supposed to look forced, but did anyway.

“Why don't you go up to your room? I woke you up so early after a sleepover. You must want a nap.” 

She wasn’t wrong; he should be tired. He hadn't slept much, Richie's arms around him not enough to calm his racing mind. He'd been dreading this, dreading coming back home and coming back to her. He was afraid of how he would react to seeing her, a woman who had been lying to him since he could remember. As it turned out, he was feeling anxious and resentful.

“I'm okay, thanks.” 

All his mother wanted was for this to be a normal day, he could tell. She wanted to sit in her recliner and watch television while he stayed safety upstairs. He figured she was afraid to turn on the TV after he'd escaped seemingly under her nose. If he was upstairs, he would have to come all the way downstairs to get out of the house again, and then she could catch him if he tried anything. 

On a normal day, Eddie wouldn't mind going upstairs, getting away from his mother's commandeering presence where he could read, study, clean, or as of late, make out with Richie. Today, he wasn't in the mood to give her that satisfaction. He turned back to the window. 

“Are you waiting for someone?” She asked sharply.

“No.” It was true. His friends had made plans to get together at Bill's later today; since they figured that Pennywise wasn't going to stop, they needed a plan to take the fight to him. Eddie however, had preemptively declined. He knew his mother wouldn't let him go anyways, as much as his heart ached to help his friends. “I know that I'm grounded.” 

“I didn't say you were grounded.”

“You didn't have to.” 

Mrs. Kaspbrak lost her words for a moment. 

“That Richard boy came over here yesterday. Are you still hanging out with him?”

He whirled back around to face her, the troubling “If or When” question from the night before coming forefront into his mind. 

“Yes, Mommy. He’s one of my closest friends, alright? It isn't fair that you dislike him so much.”

“Isn’t fair?” She drew herself up. “I don't like your tone, Edward.” 

Eddie felt his hands ball up into fists. A part of him, a part that he hated, shrunk back at his mother's anger and wanted to just go upstairs, get in bed and take his medicine like a good boy, because that was comfortable. Because that was the way he'd lived for sixteen years. Because without his inhaler he couldn't breathe, because without his medication the terrifying microbes and pathogens would get him infected, diseased, paralyzed, or dead. Panic began rising in his throat, but he choked it back down. 

“You want to talk about fairness?” He was on his feet before he realized it. “It isn't fair that you've been lying to me. It isn't fair that you pretended I had asthma all my life to keep me from doing stuff I wanted, like playing outside or joining the track team. It isn't fair that you've conditioned me for years to shove a bunch of pills down my throat, and they don't even do anything!” 

He watched the muscles in her jaw clench, watched her swallow. She stared down at him, but he refused to look away. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” She said quietly. Something about her voice sounded dangerous.

“I know, okay? I found out. I know it’s all bullshit.”

“Eddie--”

“I’m not really sick, am I?”

Her silence was all the answer he needed, and he had to leave. He tried to move forwards, but she stepped in front of him. 

“Mom--”

“They help you, Eddie. I’m helping you; I’m trying to protect you.”

“Protect me? By keeping me isolated and fucking terrified and locked up in this hell hole?!” Eddie felt tears stinging his eyes, trying and failing to swallow down the lump growing in the back of his throat. “I can’t… I just don’t understand. I can’t be here right now.”

He pushed past her and to the door, making it there and opening it before she spoke again. 

“Eddie, please don’t.” She sounded so broken suddenly, emotional and afraid as the scrambled after him. “Please don’t do this to me.” 

She grabbed at his shirt but he shook her off him, clearing all of the porch steps in a single leap and breaking out into a run as soon as his feet hit the pavement. She yelled after him but he didn’t stop, wiping furiously at his eyes. He ran as fast as he could towards Bill’s house, refusing to let himself slow down, not even when the bottoms of his feet began to sting from how hard they were hitting the pavement. By the time Bill’s front yard came into view his chest was heaving with how hard he was crying, and he heard Ben shout his name in surprise. 

They were all in the yard, standing around and talking, Richie frowning and jogging forward to meet him. His boyfriend stopped in his tracks when he realized Eddie wasn’t slowing down, and Eddie barreled into him at full force, the two of them stumbling backwards before Richie managed to find his footing.

“Eddie?” It was Mike’s voice, sounding concerned and closer than expected, Eddie wondering briefly if maybe Mike had caught the two of them. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

Eddie just pushed his forehead against Richie’s chest, trying to breathe, trying to fight back the urge to search his pockets for the inhaler that he didn’t have, and trying not to let that scare him. Richie kissed the top of his head and rubbed slow circles on his back, supporting his weight until Eddie was able to pull back and steady himself on his own two feet. 

Richie's shirt was wet and rumpled from where he had pressed his face into it but thankfully Richie didn't seem to mind, wiping Eddie's cheeks with his thumbs and pushing his hair out of his face and looking very, very scared. 

“Eddie? Are you okay?” 

Eddie took a deep, steadying breath. 

“My mom--”

“What did she do?”

“No, no no, it was me.” Eddie swallowed hard, unsure if he could get the words out. “I yelled at her, and I… I cursed at her, I…” 

“I'm sure she had it coming.” Stan said. Eddie thought that the words were supposed to be comforting, but he wasn't sure how they made him feel. Bill put a hand on his shoulder.

“I'm s-sure it'll be okay, Eddie. W-w-we’re happy you're here.” 

A quick look around told Eddie that Bill was the only one of them not looking at him like he was fragile and breakable, and he felt a rush of affection and gratitude towards his friend. The confidence in him made it easier for him to stand up straight, wiping his face on his t-shirt.

“There’s still a couple of hours until three.” Ben said. “We were about to go inside and eat.”

Eddie nodded, grateful for the update, but when everyone went to walk inside his legs wouldn’t move. Perhaps he still wasn't quite okay yet. Richie stopped when he realized Eddie wasn't following behind the rest of them, walking back over. 

“You okay?” 

Eddie just shook his head. He had a hard time believing what he’d just done. He regretted it a little, but he knew that he wouldn’t have been able to continue living the way he had. Something had to give. From somewhere within him, a small laugh rose to the surface.

“My legs won't move.” 

“Only one thing to do, then.” Richie said with a smile, and before Eddie realized it he'd been scooped up off his feet, carefully carried bridal-style in through Bill's front door. Eddie tried to protest but already knew it would do no good, dumped unceremoniously on Bill's couch once they were indoors, Richie leaning down before Eddie was able to sit up and smothering his face with kisses until he began to protest. 

“Just like yesterday, alright?” Richie said quietly. “It'll all be okay. For now, just try not to think about it.” 

Nodding a little, Eddie got to his feet, the two of them rejoining the rest of the group around Bill's kitchen table. They talked about nothing as they waited for three o’clock to come, Ben giving a blushing but happy recount of his interactions with Beverly before they’d fallen asleep. Then he confessed to the group that he liked her, everyone complaining that they already knew and pelting him with goldfish crackers. Eddie slowly felt his shoulders relaxing, the threat of tears receding with every exhale. He didn’t fully feel better, but his friends, with all their cursing and bad jokes, had a strangely healing presence. 

“Okay.” Richie hopped from his chair. “Where’s Bev? It’s three. She needs to be here.”

“It’s barely three. Give her a little time.” Mike protested, but Richie didn’t listen, heading out into the front yard. It wasn’t strange for Richie to be so hyperactive and raring to go, but Eddie couldn’t help but feel that something was off. Richie’s energy wasn’t really out of excitement to see Beverly; he was twitchy, going up and down the street, almost like he was anxious. After fifteen minutes Richie’s impatience seemed to have spread, Ben and Bill also on edge, even Eddie feeling nervous for no reason he could identify. Richie was walking back and forth across the yard and frowning, and when it became thirty minutes past, he stopped his pacing. 

“Where the fuck is Beverly?!” His voice was loud and harsh.

“Don't get angry at her!” Ben exclaimed defensively. Richie tugged his fingers through his hair.

“I'm not angry at her!” He shouted back, and while he did actually sound quite angry, Eddie knew the look in his eyes. Richie was extremely worried about something, and it was driving him crazy. 

“What is it, then? Because you're freaking everyone out.” Stan said, standing between Ben and Richie and crossing his arms. It seemed to be a precautionary measure, because Ben looked ready to fight for Beverly's honor. Richie let out a long breath. 

“Fine! Fuck. I’m just… I wasn’t supposed to tell you guys this. She made me promise.”

“W-what is it?” Bill asked quickly. Richie paused for a long time, still looking conflicted about sharing this secret information, but if it was concerning enough to get this worked up about, Eddie felt that the rest of the group needed to know.

“Richie, start talking.” He said, wondering briefly if he was the first person in the world ever to say that. Richie searched his eyes for a moment, then nodded. 

“Alright. Okay. When I woke her up this morning--to hide us, you know, so Eddie's mom wouldn't see her--she told me that she hadn't meant to fall asleep last night. She meant to go home, so her dad wouldn't know she was gone. She was scared about him finding out, so I asked her to meet us here at three. I wanted to make sure she would be okay.”

“So what, she's grounded or something?’ Mike asked, but Eddie knew that wasn't it. Something as simple as being grounded wouldn't make Richie so worked up. Richie shook his head.

“No. Her dad, he… He...” Richie struggled for a moment, looking as though his words physically pained him. “He hurts her, sometimes.” 

An echoing silence followed his words. Eddie felt slightly sick to his stomach, unsure if Richie’s vagueness was better or worse.

“Did you all not just hear me?” Richie asked, his eyes wide. “She said she would meet us and she’s half an hour late! We need to find her.”

They all nodded seriously, Ben’s face extremely white, the group setting off down the road at a run. It wasn’t until they turned off of Bill’s street that they realized they didn’t actually know where Beverly lived. 

“She walked me home once.” Eddie reminded them, jogging up to the front of the pack. “It's somewhere up this way.” 

They were moving quickly, everyone stopping in their tracks when Stan paused, pointing.

“That front door is open.” 

Sure enough, a few houses away, there was a door with a busted doorknob, swinging open loosely. They ran up to it, but Eddie got nervous the closer they got, slowing down. Everyone seemed to feel the same way, approaching at a cautious walk. 

“Hello?” Mike called out. There was no reply, Bill ducking his head inside. Ben made a small sound and ran in without warning, kneeling down and picking something up off the floor. It took Eddie a moment to realize that it was something crumpled up, but it wasn’t until Ben flattened the object out that he could see it was a postcard. Over his shoulder, Eddie heard a sharp intake of breath from Stan. 

“This is hers.” Ben said. “She lives here. Beverly!” 

“Bev!” Bill took up the call, everyone entering the house. The place was small and rundown, the carpet old and dirty, laundry strewn around in random places. They split up to search and Eddie reached for Richie’s hand, the negative energy and bad expectations making his stomach squirm. Richie took it, rubbing his hand with his thumb. 

“Don’t worry, Eddie. It’ll be okay.” His voice was soft, but he sounded more like he was talking to himself. A shout from Bill made them jump. 

“W-w-w-we found her dad, I think.”

“...what? You think? You would know if you found a fucking disgusting, shitheaded, creepy--”

“H-h-h-h-h… He’s dead.” 

“Oh, wow.” Richie’s voice went a bit quieter. “Way to go Bev.”

“No, Richie…” Stan's voice was grim. “I don’t think it was Bev that killed him. You should come look at this.” 

When Eddie finally got to the bathroom down the hall, everybody else was already there, looking in through the doorway without entering. It was hard to squeeze in, but Eddie finally managed to fit his head under Mike's arm and take a look.

There was a man in regular jeans, boots, and a tucked in button up shirt, propped up against the wall. His head was tilted back, mostly to keep it from falling forward, his chin the only thing about his face that Eddie could tell carried a familial resemblance to Beverly. The corners of his mouth had been ripped up to his cheekbones with something that looked jagged and serrated, and a dent in his forehead had spilled drying blood down his face. A large, broken piece of porcelain lay on the floor by his feet, and a big red balloon was tied tightly around his neck.

“Pennywise.” Stan murmured. He looked green. Bill stepped forward, turning the balloon in his hands until they all saw the love message for Derry. Then he frowned. 

“There's s-something in here.” He said. He dug his fingernail into the top of the balloon until it popped, the noise making Mike jump so badly he nearly hit Eddie in the head with his arm. Bill pried the hole open with his fingers as the balloon deflated, pulling out a small, folded piece of paper. His lips moved as he read, then he turned the paper so everyone could see the message, written in a messy scrawl.

_ Stop now before I kill you all. A word to the wise, from your friend Pennywise. _

“He's baiting us.” Mike murmured. “He took Beverly. This is it.” 

“Let's go.” Bill pushed past them all, leading the way down the hallway and back out into the street. He was silent all the way back to his house, getting his car keys and starting up the vehicle, his jaw set. Eddie was fairly certain that if they hadn't taken it upon themselves to scramble into the car, Bill would have left without them. The silence wasn't broken until they made it through the front door of the Neibolt house, Stan pausing on porch.

“Shouldn’t someone stay outside?” He asked hesitantly. “You know, to keep watch?”

“We can’t split up.” Eddie said quickly, his words met with nods all around. Stan should know this; Pennywise had tried to pick both of them off while they were standing alone. Bill stepped up to him, swallowing as he did so. He looked nervous, but his eyes were fixed on Stan’s, taking Stan’s hand. 

“You can't stay out here alone.” Bill told him, and Eddie noticed Stan trembling slightly, despite his tough exterior. “If any of us are alone, he’ll get us. He’ll pick us off one by one.” 

Stan stared back at him for a few moments, then his grip tightened on Bill’s hand, and he stepped through the doorway. The house seemed to creak as he walked in, and Stan whispered out a curse through a low exhale. 

Bill led them through the kitchen and down a set of stairs that Eddie hadn’t noticed the first time he’d been here (not that he could say he’d noticed much of anything the first time he'd been here) coming to a stop in front of a large and cast iron manhole cover. 

“This is it.” Bill said. “I can’t get it off. It’s t-t-t-too heavy.” 

They tried together to lift it, but to no avail. Not only did it seem to weigh a ton, it may have even been latched down by something. 

“Well.” Mike sighed, straightening up. “There are plenty of explosives in this place. I’m sure we could rig something up.”

 

 

Beverly’s head was throbbing when she opened her eyes. She felt dizzy and slightly nauseated, struggling up into a sitting position. The ground was wet and the air was strangely cold, and she focused on a concerningly discolored spot on the floor until she could get her eyes to focus. Then she looked around.

She was underground, that much she could tell. She could hear water running somewhere in the distance, through pipes and far away. Her wrists and ankles were bound together with plastic zip ties, pulled so tightly that they ached and stung.

“Who are you?” Came a voice. It was hesitant, quiet, and scared, coming from somewhere behind her. Beverly jumped and turned, met with the sight of a boy maybe ten years of age, looking tiny, dirty, and exhausted. He was sitting roughly ten feet away and was similarly tied up, but with ropes instead of plastic, the restraints covered in dried blood. His eyes were big and brown, and it seemed impossible, but Beverly knew who he must be.

“Georgie?” She asked back. “Georgie Denbrough?” 

He nodded slowly, and Beverly let out a soft breath of relief.

“My name is Beverly Marsh.” She told him. “I'm friends with your brother, Bill.” 

“Bill’s friend?” He asked. A little light came to life in his eyes at the sound of his brother's name. “A friend like Stan and Eddie and Richie?” 

“Yes, like them. They're my friends too.” 

He considered her for a moment before moving closer to her across the stone floor.

“I’m going to help you.” She promised him. “We’re going to get out of here.”

“But you’re all tied up.” Georgie said, a bit of sadness and confusion in his voice. Before Beverly could respond, there was a strange chuckle from the darkness, and her heart sank. Out from the shadows stepped Pennywise, his outfit as pristine as it could be when worn around in a sewer, his clownish makeup immaculate. It was as though he had dressed up for some special occasion, a gleam in his eye and an extra spring in his step. He approached them, and Beverly noted with a small bit of pride that he was still limping.

“Don’t hurt her!” Georgie cried, but he was pointedly ignored as Pennywise got close to Beverly and leaned down, so they were face to face. She resisted the urge to spit on him.

“The little one has a point, you know. You’re all. Tied. Up.”

He punctuated the words with a poke to her forehead, and she spit on him anyway. He didn’t react at all, the saliva dripping down his cheek, and it made her recoil.

“Why are we still alive?” She asked. “What do you want with us?”

“Just some peace and quiet. I bit off more than I could chew, you see.” His mouth widened grotesquely into something that wasn’t quite a smile. He leaned back as he spoke, his voice frighteningly casual. “When I first took little Georgie, he was to be nothing more than a light snack. But that very night, I saw four other boys looking for him. I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could lure them away and have them too. It’s risky to live meal to meal, with no leftovers stored in the fridge.” He let out a cackling laugh, and Beverly’s stomach turned. 

“But then the four little boys got three extra friends. So determined, the lot of you were. You told the police about me. You wouldn’t let me have the smallest in your group, even after I broke his arm.” His mouth fell into an exaggerated pout. “That’s simply not fair. But they’re going to come for you.”

He leaned forwards so suddenly that it made Beverly jump, reaching out with a gloved hand and gripping tightly on her bottom jaw. He gave her head a little shake, and at their proximity Beverly could see his bulging eyes, and the worn skin under his facepaint; he was nothing but a deranged old man, and Beverly wasn’t afraid of him.

“They’re going to come to save you.” Pennywise continued. “They’re going to come, and I’m going to kill them.”

“They are my friends.” Beverly responded, her voice unwavering. “I’m not going to let you touch them.”

A loud explosion sounded from above them, along with a exclaimed curse that Beverly recognized to be Richie’s voice. Pennywise looked up at the rocky ceiling, his hold on Beverly’s chin loosening, and a grin split his face. 

“Oh, oh yes.” He let go of her completely. “It’s showtime.” He clapped his hands together, giddy as a child, and took off down a tunnel and out of sight. 

“Is that my brother?” Georgie asked. “Is he here to rescue us?” 

“Yes.” Beverly said. “But we need to help him out, okay? We need to get untied before they get down here, so we're ready to run away. Understand?” 

Georgie looked at her hopelessly for a moment. 

“The ropes are really strong.” He said. “They don't break, no matter how hard you pull on them. They just cut your skin.” 

“I don't have ropes.” She said, showing him. “I just got here, so I only have plastic. See this chain around my neck? It has my house key on it. I need you to help me get it over my head, alright? Can you help me?” 

Georgie's little face set in determination, his expression looking so much like Bill's that it surprised her. He nodded. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is: the final chapter! Huge huge HUGE thank you to everyone that read this fic ♡ It was the first IT fic I ever wrote, so it holds a special place in my heart; having it be so well received is like a dream come true!! I'm super attached to the little au I managed to create in this fic, so maybe I'll revisit it sometime. But until then, thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoy the last part!!

“Shit.” Eddie muttered as they walked into the tunnel. “Greywater.” 

It was greywater, but it was barely an inch deep, Bill paying it no mind as he led the way. The group followed close behind him.

“Does it bother you Eds?” Richie’s voice was playful and he jumped, splashing water as he landed. Bill flinched a little when the cold and wet substance hit the backs of his legs and soaked into his socks.

“Richie--!”

“Both of you need to shut the fuck up.” Stan hissed loudly, Bill turning and hushing all of them. It was nice for Richie to try and ease the tension, nice to hear his friends’ voices while wandering through the dark sewer systems, but Bill was with Stan on this one. They’d blasted the top off of the manhole cover and dropped down into the sewers together, and now Bill was trying not to get too lost. He didn't know where he was going, but none of his friends did either, so all he could do was rely on his own sheer determination; nothing was going to stop him from finding Georgie and Beverly, dark and winding sewer system be damned. 

Eventually, after some expressed doubts, cursing, and more insisting on everyone to just shut up, they made it to an opening. Light was coming in faintly through grates far above them. There were three tunnels branching off in three different directions, Bill looking around hopelessly. They stepped forwards together into the middle of the room, Bill trying to look and listen, but the sewers were silent and all of their pathways all led off into darkness.

“A-a-a-any ideas?” He asked slowly.

“Close your eyes and point?” Richie suggested. It sounded silly, but it was a notion he couldn't help but entertain; it wasn't as though they really had anything to go on. Bill began walking towards the tunnel directly ahead of them. If it was a blind guess, they might as well keep moving forwards. Then Ben put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hold on.”  He murmured. “I hear something.”

Bill had to listen hard, and even then he couldn’t really tell exactly what it was he was listening to. Sometimes, it sounded like footsteps. Sometimes it was whispers, or scrapings along the walls, but try as he might he couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from. Sound should have been funneling towards them from a single tunnel, but it seemed as though the noise was coming from every direction at once. The logical side of Bill was telling him that the sounds were simply echoes, but paranoia had him wondering if there was more than one adversary down here for them to face. 

He clenched his jaw, stepping up to investigate. He heard the splashing of footsteps as some of his friends followed behind him, too focused on listening to look back and see who. He shined his flashlight down each of the tunnels in turn, and just as he thought he’d found for sure where it was coming from, there was a horrible, muffled scream from behind them. 

“Stan? Stanley!” Eddie shouted, Bill's eyes searching the group, realizing that somehow, Stan wasn't there. Everyone took off down the tunnel at a run and Bill felt his heart pounding in his throat, anxiety and dread settling sickly in his stomach. The Losers in front him came to a stop at a bend in the tunnel, and in spite of himself, Bill felt his own feet slowing too as horror overcame him. Stan was lying flat on his back, completely motionless, and there was so much blood on him and in the surrounding water that Bill felt his heart stop in his chest.

“Stan! S-S-Stan, shit--” Bill pushed past everyone and at his movement they followed, crouching next to Stanley on the sewer floor. He was bleeding from his head, from cuts on the sides of his face that looked like jagged knife marks. As soon as Bill touched him Stan sat up fast, terrified and unbalanced, a cry ripping from his throat. 

“You guys made me come here!” He was completely disoriented, but even as he spoke he reached out wildly for them, taking Bill’s arm with one hand and holding it in a grip so tight it was bruising. “You let him take me, you--you left me, you…” He was crying too hard to continue, choking on his words and falling into sobs.

“We wouldn’t, you know w-w-w-we wouldn’t--” Bill tried, Stan shaking his head rapidly. There were tears in Richie’s eyes as he pulled Stan into a hug, Mike helping Stan to his feet, all of them crowding him, hugging him, Eddie murmuring reassurances as Ben tried his best to wipe the blood from his face. Bill felt as though his heart was breaking, watching Stan fall apart on Richie’s shoulder, another yell ricocheting off the tunnel walls.

“Billy!” 

Bill's throat constricted. The voice was high and desperate, a voice Bill hadn't heard in nearly three weeks, but one he knew he would recognize anywhere. Hope, disbelief, and fear all tangled together in his stomach and adrenaline surged through him, his feet already moving.

“Georgie? Georgie!” 

Eddie shouted after him but blood was rushing through Bill’s ears, taking the tunnel’s turn at a run and vanishing out of sight. 

  
  
  


Mike cursed as Bill ran off. He’d heard the shout too, all of them had, but Bill couldn’t just do that. Stan was more than enough evidence that they needed to stick together if they wanted to find Beverly. Mike had no idea how Stan had been grabbed from them like that, but if stealing him away and mauling him had been that easy for Pennywise to do, then Bill might have well just offered himself up on a silver platter. 

They had to get moving again, Eddie in the lead as they ran in the direction Bill had gone. Stan was weak with fear and his head wounds were still bleeding, clinging to Mike as they went. Mike didn’t complain; if Stanley needed support, he was here.

The long tunnel opened up into another clearing-like area, but it wasn’t at all similar to the previous one they’d found. This room was like a cave, a few out of place pieces of furniture here and there in corners, a mattress lying in the midst of a dirty heap of blankets with various things like flashlights and children’s toys littering the damp floor. Bill was standing near the far corner of the room, maybe fifteen feet away, his entire body shaking. He was face to face with the clown, who had his arms around something small. It took Mike a few moments to realize that the thing was a child, his little feet dangling barely an inch off the floor, Pennywise’s grip around the young boy’s neck making his face turn a horrible reddish-purple. 

“Oh, good!” Pennywise twisted his overdrawn lips into a grimacing smile. “Everyone’s here! Did you enjoy my surprise for you? I got a bit impatient, I'm afraid, worried you might get lost, so I decided to show you which road to take. It truly is a tragedy to have marred such a pretty, pretty face. But don’t fret! With luck, no one will ever see it.” 

Pennywise’s eyes traveled over all of them as he spoke, his last words directed entirely at Stan, whose eyes were fixed only on Georgie. Then his gaze flicked to Mike, his smirk widening before he continued on. 

“I want to kill all of you, but unfortunately, I seem to have lost the girl. So instead, I’ll have to strike a bargain.” 

“L-let Georgie g-g-g-go!” Bill choked out. The little boy’s eyes were desperate, his sandy-colored hair falling into his face as he struggled, ripping at the hand around his neck and trying to breathe. Mike searched the room with his eyes, the clown’s wording scaring him. Lost the girl? Had something bad happened to Beverly?

“Let him go? But he's just so cute. I'll need something in exchange.” 

“Bill--” Mike began in warning, but Bill was already too far gone. 

“Anything, p-p-please.”

Pennywise looked delighted.

“Anything? Absolutely anything? I feel so humbled now. I'm not asking for much.”

Bill's hands clenched into fists. His eyes were on Georgie's face, tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“What do you want?”

The clown’s fingers twisted, tightening their hold.

“It’s simple, really. I want to be left alone. This is my home, you know. I want to live out my days here, without the lot of you poking around. If you think you see me, just assume you don't.” He shrugged easily, easing up on Georgie's throat in the process, letting his feet touch the ground. The boy wheezed in a breath and coughed, choking on air. “Don't try to help people find their little boys and girls. Turn the other cheek. Let's just put all of this behind us.”

Mike didn't want to make the deal. He realized what was at stake, but it wasn't right. They knew where Pennywise was, they knew where he lived; letting him continue on was something Mike knew he couldn't live with. But Bill wasn't taking suggestions. 

“Fine.” 

“And one last thing.” Pennywise held up a finger, as though telling them to wait. “A trade.” 

He'd been talking so slowly that none of them expected him to move so fast, throwing Georgie down onto the ground. There was a resounding crack as the boy's head hit the stone below, his eyelids fluttering closed, Mike’s throat closing up in silent horror. A couple of them yelled, the noises jumbled and incoherent and Bill took a step forward, stopped in his tracks when Pennywise held up a hand.

“Oh, don't worry so much.” Pennywise said, crouching down and pressing a knee into Georgie's back. “He's simply unconscious.” He pulled out a knife and seemed to consider the child below him, the blade large and impossibly sharp.

“Don't hurt him.” Bill pleaded, the words coming out soft and fearful. “I… I-I-I--” 

“Your brother, and all your friends will walk free.” Pennywise promised, pointing the tip of his knife at each of them in turn, before finally resting it on Bill. “But only if you agree to stay in their place. And since I can understand how that might be a point of debate between you and your friends, I've decided I'll speed it up a bit for all of you.” 

He brought his arm up and back down incredibly fast, the blade of the knife bearing down on Georgie's right arm. There was the sound of bone splintering before the sharp metal hit the stone floor, the bottom of Mike's stomach falling completely away, the skinny severed arm gushing red as it rolled slightly away from its body. Blood ran rapidly across the stone, dark and thick and headed straight towards them.

“Agree to my terms, or watch him bleed out.” 

Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth there was a loud cry from behind him, Beverly leaping out and wrapping her arms around Pennywise's neck. The clown nearly fell on top of Georgie before he could steady himself, lashing out backwards with the knife, but she was too close for him to reach. Bill tried to take the chance to run to his brother, but Pennywise shook Beverly off violently and intercepted him, catching Bill in the stomach with his arm and sending him sprawling backwards. 

“Choose!” He roared, and Mike sprang into action. He was worried for a brief second about taking the support out from under Stan, but Stan was right there next to him, his long legs carrying him faster, up and ahead of him. Pennywise was bearing down on Bill but Richie got there first, holding a bat he'd picked up from the mess of toys on the ground, winding back and swinging hard. There was a painful clacking sound as the clown’s teeth knocked together, Richie getting another solid swing in before the bat was pulled from his hands and he too was thrown aside, falling and skidding across the ground. Stan ducked under Pennywise’s butcher knife as he swung it at them, but it still caught him across the back of the arm, the gash it left completely ignored as he pulled Bill to his feet. 

Mike didn’t slow down as he ran into the confrontation, winding his arm back, punching the clown in the head so hard that he felt the skin across his knuckles split from the impact. He managed to get one, two, three hits in before he saw the glint of Pennywise’s knife coming at him through the air. There was the white-hot pain of something solid and sharp beginning to dig into his side, but as soon as it was there it was gone, Stan next to him and holding Richie's bat. He hit the weapon from the clown's grip, the knife clattering away and landing at Bill's feet.

Bill picked the blade up, his expression hardened with determination as Pennywise made a mad dash in his direction. He stabbed out blindly, but all he caught was Pennywise’s cheek and chin as the man fell, tackled to the ground by Ben. Ben and Eddie were on him, yelling and kicking, the clown sent sprawling. He clambered up onto his hands and knees, trying to crawl away, a wild look in his eyes that Mike recognized was fear. Pennywise was afraid of them.

Pennywise was moving closer and closer to Beverly and she held up her hand, requesting the bat be thrown in her direction. Stan tossed it, she caught it, and she struck Pennywise so hard he was spitting out blood, scrambling away on his hands. 

Eddie and Bill ran over to Georgie, Mike with the rest of the group as they backed Pennywise into a corner. 

“I'll kill you.” The man said, his voice thick with hatred, blood-streaked saliva dripping from his chin. “I'll kill all of you.” 

Then his back hit the stone wall behind him. Desperation flashed in his eyes and he lunged at them, Mike stepping up to meet him in a wild rush of courage and adrenaline, knocking him under the chin, his own blood streaking through the white face paint. Pennywise's head snapped back and slammed hard into the wall behind him, his eyelids falling closed as he crumpled to the floor, completely unconscious. Mike lowered his arm, his chest heaving. 

“Elevated! You have to keep the arm elevated!” Eddie's voice was high and panicked and Mike looked over, having almost completely forgotten about the perilous situation Georgie was in. The boy was terrifyingly pale and still, both Eddie and Bill covered in his blood. Eddie had fastened a kind of tourniquet with Richie's discarded overshirt and the bleeding seemed to have slowed, but with the amount of blood already soaking the floor and their clothes, Mike couldn't help but wonder if it was too little, too late. They needed to get out of here, but it felt near impossible to climb back up the well with Georgie in tow.

“I found something that looked like it could have been another way out of here.” Beverly said quickly, already jogging in the direction she was pointing. It was a smaller tunnel than the ones they’d gone through to get here, but they could still fit through if they bent over. Bill nodded wordlessly, scooping his little brother into his arms, and they made a run for it. Beverly led the way, but once the exit was visible Stan pushed past her, running headlong into the first house he found to call for help. Two blaring police cars showed up first, an ambulance driving in less than a minute later, and Bill and Georgie were picked up and sped away. 

“How did you know to do that?” Ben asked Eddie, who had his eyes closed in exhaustion, leaning against Richie’s chest. He frowned a little.

“When you get older, nurses think you'll be interested in hearing emergency room horror stories while you're waiting for your blood work to get finished.” He said. “I've only remembered some of it, but…” 

“I'm sure he'll be okay.” Richie said, rubbing Eddie’s shoulders, though there wasn't much conviction behind his words. “You did a good job.”

“I don't know.” Eddie looked over himself, over all the blood that had begun drying on his hands and arms. “He's so small, I don't see how he could have enough blood left.” 

Then a policeman approached them, and Mike realized they weren't yet done. The officers kept asking them stupid questions, and it wasn't until three more cars showed up that they were able to convince them to go down into the sewers to make an arrest. 

Mike volunteered to lead the way. He didn't want to; he never wanted to go back to the clown's lair in his life, but he also knew none of his friends wanted to either. The men muttered distractedly about contacting Chief Bowers, or being unable to get in contact Chief Bowers; in truth, Mike wasn’t really listening. Either way, all talking stopped when they all entered the cavern, the policemen speechless as they took in the grimey furniture and bloodstained floor. It was surreal to see Pennywise--no, Robert Gray, that's all he was--still lying unconscious where they’d left him, and before long he was cuffed and hauled away. When Mike exited the sewers again he found his friends grouped by Bill’s car, and they seemed to have done some washing up, Eddie's arms and Stan's face now mostly clean of blood. Eddie held up Bill's car keys as he approached.

“Bill left them in the ignition.” He explained. “We were planning on going down to the hospital.”

Mike nodded a little. Bill shouldn’t be alone through this; they should be with him. It seemed to fully hit Mike then that in large part, the danger had passed. They were safe. Exhaustion washed over him, and his shoulders sagged.

Eddie climbed up into the driver’s seat, Stan and Richie also slowly getting in. Ben stepped up to Beverly, his face anxious as he looked over her, prompting Mike to look over her as well. She had dark purple bruises on the side of her face, and around her wrists, and around her ankles. 

“Are you okay?” Ben asked quietly. Beverly let out a couple of breaths before speaking.

“I shouldn't have left Georgie.” Her voice was quick and extremely upset, an edge to it that told Mike that she was on the verge of tears. “I shouldn't have left him alone. I untied us and then I went looking for you guys, but I was afraid of just the two of us running into the clown. When he left to look for you I didn't think he would go back there, so I told Georgie to stay put, but…”

“It's not your fault.” Mike told her. 

“I came running as soon as I heard your voices, I didn't think, I didn't--”

“Beverly.” Ben's voice was soft but steadfast. “You did the best you could. You saved our lives, okay? You have nothing to blame yourself for.”

Beverly began to cry, closing her eyes and biting down hard on her bottom lip, her head hanging slightly. She stepped closer to Ben and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. Surprised, Ben staggered a little before he was able to get his balance back, placing an arm gently around her waist to hold her, rubbing her back. They stood together, and it wasn't until Eddie started up Bill's car that Mike remembered they had somewhere they needed to be. Beverly stepped back, wiping at her face, Mike opening the car door for them. Ben got in first, offering his hand to Beverly. She took it, and Mike couldn’t help but notice as he squeezed in the back beside them and closed the door, the Denbrough’s Volkswagen starting slowly down the street, that for the entire drive to the hospital she didn't let go. 

  
  
  


“Well?” Richie took large strides into his living room, throwing his arms wide. “How do I look?”

Mike looked him over, and immediately burst into laughter. Stan hit Mike on the shoulder. 

“Don't encourage him.” He reprimanded. But he was smiling a little and so was Bill, while Eddie put his face in his hands. Ben couldn't help but laugh as well.

From the waist up, Richie looked rather nice. His tie was a little off center and his hair was at its usual full-volume mess of curls, but his blue button-down shirt and suit jacket looked quite fancy. His black dress shoes were nice and polished, with the customary black shin-length socks underneath. His legs however, from the underwear down, were completely bare.

“Dude, go put some pants on.” Mike said when he'd managed to collect himself, still laughing a little. Richie pouted. 

“Don't you think I look nice?”

“I think you w-would look nice with pants.” Bill said. Richie turned to Eddie indignantly. Or at least, he tried to look indignant; he was trying to lighten the mood, and was delighted by his success in doing so. 

“What do you think, Eds? Do you think I need to put pants on?”

“To a memorial service, Richie? Yes, I think you need to put pants on. Go back to your room.” 

Laughter followed Richie out as he walked off to do as he was told, Ben looking over the rest of his friends. It was a couple of weeks later now, and they were all dressed up in suits, getting ready for the memorial service for all of the missing kids. Every missing body was now accounted for, found during a police raid of the Neibolt house following Robert Gray's arrest. Heartbreakingly, Georgie Denbrough was the only one left alive. 

They'd picked Richie's house to gather and get ready. Though Bill, Richie, Eddie, and Stan might not have spent much time at Richie's house in years previous, it was quickly becoming a main hangout spot, mostly because Beverly was also living there now. With Alvin Marsh’s death also being blamed on Robert Gray, Beverly was being sent to live with her aunt in Portland. The woman wasn't able to pick her up right away, so Beverly was staying at Richie's for a month or so (not to the knowledge of the authorities, Richie's parents, or Beverly's aunt) and the group was taking full advantage of it. Richie's house was an escape, a place to go to get away from all their parents, because when what they had done to rescue Georgie had made itself public knowledge, overly concerned smothering from mothers and fathers alike had begun.

Richie was the only one of the boys that was not yet completely dressed and ready. Ben had only been to one other memorial service before and it had been his father's, so he was feeling rather nervous and unsure of how the day would go. This time, he told himself, at least he would be with his friends. 

Eddie wasn't able to wear a full suit due to the bulkiness of his cast, so he had to resort to a short sleeve button-down and slacks, though he'd brought his jacket along to wear over his shoulders if he wanted to. Mike looked incredibly crisp and clean in all black and white, and Stan and Bill were standing a little ways away, fixing each other's ties. Ben couldn't hear them, but watched anyways as Stan said something that must have been funny, Bill's face softening into a smile. 

It was nice to see Bill smile, and he'd been doing it near constantly since Georgie's health had stabilized. The Denbroughs had been spending every waking (and sleeping) moment in the hospital with Georgie, and while he was rapidly on the mend, he wasn’t ready to be discharged yet. Ben had gone in a few times to visit him with some of the other Losers, wanting to meet him now that he was conscious. When he'd first walked in with Richie and Stan, it had been hard not to stare. Georgie was tiny, so frail and bruised, his right arm a bandaged stump. But he was sitting up in bed, and when Stan first poked his head in he'd let out an excited exclamation, his arms outstretched for a hug. It was amazing how much Georgie loved Stan, the young boy full of admiration for Richie, too. He'd fallen silent when Ben approached, his voice soft when he spoke.

“Thank you so much for saving my life.” He said, and Ben had been completely floored. He talked to Georgie for a little while, finding out that the books the fourth grader liked best were books Ben had also loved in elementary school. Georgie lamented to him about how he wanted new books to read, so the next time Ben came with Eddie and Beverly, he brought a few with him. Eddie and Georgie had chatted for awhile but Eddie couldn't stay, and once he'd gone Ben gave in to Georgie's requests and read to him. Beverly had curled up next to Georgie and fallen asleep, and when the chapter was finished they both looked down at her. 

“I think she’s the prettiest girl in the world, probably.” Georgie had said, his tone so innocent and honest that Ben had to agree. 

“Is Bev seriously still in the bathroom?” Richie asked, bounding down the stairs, pulling Ben from his thoughts. He was fully dressed now, ignoring Eddie's attempts to reach up and fix his hair as he walked over to the bathroom door. He knocked quietly on the wood.

“You alright in there?” He asked. “Did you fall in, or something?”

“No, fuck off.” Beverly answered. She sounded slightly frustrated. “My hair won't cooperate. It looks stupid.”

“Beverly, I'm sure your hair looks wonderful.” Mike said. “Not to rush you, but we do need to leave soon.”

“That's my parents’ bathroom.” Richie pointed out. “Maybe my mom has some hair doodads, or something.”

“Okay.” Beverly said, sounding a bit preoccupied. Richie stepped back, Bill fixing him with a curious look.

“Doodads?” He asked.

“Yeah, doodads! You know, clips and hair ties and all that stuff.” 

“Your hair could use a hair tie.” Eddie said. Richie grinned down at him.

“Yeah? That's not what you said when you were tugging on it last night.” 

“Oh my fucking god.” Eddie said, burying his pink face in Richie's shoulder as the entire group groaned. Richie just grinned, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s shoulders, and when Eddie reemerged he tried to change the subject.

“My mom is taking me to therapy, starting Monday.” 

“For which thing?” Richie asked. “The clown, or the fake medication?”

“Neither. She thinks that I had an ‘episode’ or whatever when I yelled at her.” Eddie sighed, shrugging a little and glancing around. “But it could be good. I'm going to try and take advantage of it, at least. We probably all should. Maybe I’ll have my mom call your moms.” 

Stan smiled, the expression only a little sarcastic. “Gee, thanks Eddie.”

Richie laughed. “Oh man, your therapist is so going to want to meet me.”

“You?” Eddie raised his eyebrows, frowning and reaching up to adjust Richie’s tie. “Why would she want to meet you?”

“A therapist is who you go to talk about your problems with, right? You’ll be mentioning me all the time. I’ll be a celebrity over there.” 

The group laughed again, the bathroom door opening. Beverly emerged, and it was all Ben had to keep his mouth from falling open. 

She looked beautiful, a small smile on her face as she stepped out, looking around at them. Her dress was black and fell slightly past her knees, lace making up the sleeves and the collar. She caught Ben staring at her and smiled a little, dipping her head, stepping up to him like she expected him to speak. Embarrassed, Ben felt the need to say something.

“The clip in your hair. It looks nice.” 

It did look nice, a black, lacy-looking flower that went with her dress. She reached up to touch it, a bit surprised, and Ben found himself continuing to ramble. 

“Not that your hair doesn't usually look nice, it always looks nice, even that time the other day when you fell asleep on Mike's couch and it was all sticking up…” He had to stop himself; the entire group was looking at him, and he wished he could go back in time and tape his own mouth shut. Beverly was giving him an amused sort of smile, so he tried not to write it off as a complete embarrassment. At least he had amused her. 

“In case you didn't get it, Ben thinks your hair is pretty.” Mike said, giving Ben a teasing grin.

“Yeah, I think I got it. My hair. Thanks.” Beverly laughed a bit, her next words quiet, more to herself. “Winter fire.” 

“January embers.” Ben continued, without thinking. Beverly stared at him surprise, then confusion, then finally understanding and Ben’s stomach flipped. He'd just admitted to being the secret admirer. From the corner of his eye, Ben could see Stan bringing a hand to his mouth.

“You wrote me that poem?” Beverly asked, her voice loud with surprise.

“You w-wrote her a poem?” Bill cut in. Ben could feel himself blushing.

“I… Yeah.” 

Richie whistled, but Beverly ignored him. 

“That postcard, it made me so happy… Why didn't you tell me it was from you?” 

“Because, well…” Ben shrugged a little, not sure of how he felt about this was happening in front of everyone, but completely overjoyed that Beverly had liked the poem he'd given her. “If it made you happy, then that's really all I wanted.”

It sounded corny, he knew, but it was true. He didn't expect anything from Beverly; he just wanted to see her smile. She stepped a little closer.

“So Ben, do you still… Do you still like me?” 

It took Ben a moment to find his tongue.

“I… I do.” He paused, wanting to say more than that. They'd been able to spend more time together now the danger had passed, talk about things and weren't related to murders of the past or someone trying to kill them, and all that had done was cause Ben to like Beverly more. Despite his love of literature, he couldn't find a way to put his feelings into words. “My heart burns there too.” 

Beverly reached out for his hands, entwining their fingers slowly. She was so close that Ben could count all of her eyelashes, and see all the blue streaks in her eyes. 

“Ben, if you don't kiss her I swear--” Stan started, but then Beverly leaned in, pressing her lips to his, and Ben genuinely wasn't listening anymore. His entire world was Beverly, the touch of her arms as they slid around his waist, the impossible softness of her lips, the way her hair fell slightly in her eyes as she drew away and pressed her forehead to his. She met his eyes and smiled at him and Ben felt the entire world sway slightly. This girl was incredible.

“Am I going to have to do bed checks now?” Richie asked loudly, breaking the moment. “Because I know that he comes over sometimes. I'll get home at three a.m. and there he is, just inviting himself over and sleeping on the couch. Sometimes you're all next to him on the couch too, Beverly, and I really wonder--”

Ben felt the extreme need to defend himself. He had told his mother he was sleeping over at Richie's just to spend time with Beverly, but he'd never done more than bring food over and hold conversation.

“We just talk, that's all.” He insisted. Richie pulled a face.

“Somehow that's worse.” He said. 

“Yeah, well, you'll have to get used to it.” Beverly said. She was beaming, her arms still around him, and Ben turned to her in shock. 

“G-g-g-get used to it?” He stammered out. Eddie nudged Bill's side.

“Aw, look at that, he sounds like you.” 

“Yeah.” Beverly said. “You said you wanted to make me happy, right? It would make me very happy to take you to a movie this weekend.”

Ben opened and closed his mouth a few times, not quite able to believe that Beverly Marsh was asking him on a date. His stunned silence had her faltering for a moment.

“Unless… Unless you don't want--”

“Trust me, he wants to.” Mike said, Ben nodding along until he could find his voice.

“I would love to, Beverly.” 

“Good.” Beverly stepped back, suddenly looking embarrassed, tucking some hair behind her ear. “We, uh… We should probably get going, huh?” 

“We needed to get going five minutes ago, but you kids were just too adorable.” Stan said, taking the first steps towards the door. Ben knew the memorial service was going to be sad, and it felt strange to be going to it with a smile on his face, but he just couldn't help it. He was happy. Beverly offered him her hand, he took it, and they walked together down Richie's front porch and out into the sunlight.


End file.
